The Bond
by MsBBSue
Summary: Surviving is the least of my worries. Finding my brother; that's right up there with clean water and food. All I have is a picture and hope. (Sorry for the first person summary... kind of cheesy) Contains original character as main.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

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**Chapter One:**

"What's your name?" he asks with a gun pointed in my direction. Absentmindedly, I wipe my hands off on my shirt—blood was the least of my concern at this point.

"Alex," I call out, my voice trembling slightly with the idea of another person standing before me. It wasn't until… all this that I realized just how dangerous _people_ were.

"Well, Alex," he says, his eyes staring intensely at me, "my name's Rick." He nudges his head over to a woman, her hair tied back loosely. "That's Tara—," his gun then nudges to the man on his right, "—and Glenn."

Once more, my hands try to rub the dried blood off on my shirt. It was never a good situation when there were more of _them_ than there was of you. I look at each of them; my heart racing and legs restless and wishing to run, but their guns would make it a very quick catch and, most likely, painful on my part.

"Hi," I nearly whisper as I attempted a wave of my hand. With the sudden movement, each of them readjusts their guns, three fingers far too eager to pull their triggers and be over with this confrontation. "Okay," I say, lowering my eyes to the ground. I knew better than to wander during the day. I knew I should have stayed in my tree and slept—but I needed to find water. Searching for a stream at night was never safe.

"What are you doing out here?" other man asks, his almond eyes looking down at the bag at my feet.

I give a half grin to him. "Surviving," I say. Rick's eyes narrow. "Or," I add, "trying to."

"Are there any more of you?" Rick asks, his eyes looking over my shoulder and into the trees behind.

I shake my head. "N-no," I answer, my voice almost lost. I look over my shoulder as he cocks his head. "I've been alone for a long time," I say as I turn back to the pack. The woman furrows her brow deeply as her hands fiddle with her gun. "If this is your turf, I can leave…" I look back to the grass, my jaw slacked and lips parted. "I don't want any trouble—but," I cut myself off, my voice rising almost excitedly as I look back up at them. When I see their eyes, however, I shake my head. "Never mind," I murmur.

"Let's hear you out, boy," Rick says with a nod of his head, his gun still steadily aimed at my head.

It is a long shot, but I have to ask. "I have a picture," I say as I reach for my pocket and suddenly stop as they show unease. "I can show it to you if you want."

Rick looks to Glenn and then to Tara, both giving a slight nod. "Go ahead," he says, his arms relaxing slightly.

I reach into my pocket and take out the one thing I have grown to care for most in this world. I look down at the face and swallow back the lump in my throat. Nearly three months out here and still no sign of the face in my photo. "It's a bit blurry, but—," I take a step forward.

"Put it on the ground and take tens steps back," Rick demands over my voice. My body stiffens at the words and, slowly, I lower the picture and take my paces back, a part of me thinking it may be the last time I see the blurred image.

I watch carefully as Rick approaches the picture, his gun still drawn. "His name is Truett." I take a step forward.

"Get back to your spot," Rick hollers, his gun once again aimed at my head. I look at him, my heart pounding and hands up. "Now!" he barks. Quickly, I back up.

The man examines the picture; my eyes waiting to see the spark of familiarity no one has yet shown. "Is he your brother?" he asks, his eyes looking back at me. I nod. His eyes soften slightly. "You look like him," he says. "He's older too, isn't he?" Again, I nod. I am too afraid to speak, too afraid to have my hopes dashed.

He takes a few steps back to the other two and hands the picture over to the woman. "Have you seen him?" he asks. My heart sinks. She looks at the picture and furrows her brow again, her bangs falling from behind her ears as she shakes her head. "Glenn—," Rick looks to the man, "have you seen him?"

Glenn looks at the picture and then he looks to me. "You know, it's kind of hard to tell. We've seen so many people… their faces kind of start to look the same." I lower my head and give a weak nod. "I mean—we could have seen him—all of us—but he might not have been how you remember him," he says. I feel my throat burn and eyes sting with tears threatening to fall. "He could still be alive," he adds as if trying to lessen the sting of his words.

Rick looks back down at the photo and takes three steps. "Are you armed?' he asks before coming any closer.

I shake my head, fighting back the urge to cry. "I don't believe in guns."

"A knife or anything on you?" he asks. I shake my head again. The last people I had a run in with took everything I had—canned goods and all. Rick looks back down at the ripped and smudged picture. "Where was he?"

I keep my eyes downcast. "He was visiting our uncle in Grovetown," I say quietly.

"Everyone headed to Atlanta," Glenn calls. "He probably went there."

I shake my head. "The place is nothing but a living grave yard." I look across at him. "My brother is smart. He wouldn't have stayed long if that was how it looked—,"

"It didn't look like that all the time," Rick says. "My wife and son were headed there. They were lucky enough not to be in the city when it got taken over."

"He wasn't there," I say through gritted teeth.

Tara's eyes widen. "You went in the city?"

"He doesn't like large groups of people. He hates cities—and he always said he would find a way to survive _if_ something like this were to happen." I shake my head; funny how things had a way of working out.

"He would have gone anywhere to keep away from walkers," Rick says as he holsters his gun. "The promise of a safe city can make people do things they don't want to do." I shake my head and roll my eyes. They were the same as the rest; I could see their disbelief—their sympathetic looks. I am not crazy. I know he's alive.

"The way I see it," Rick says after clearing his throat, "is you have two choices." I narrow my eyes. "You can keep going on your own. Look for your brother—none of us are going to stop you, you have my word on that. Or," he says, his blue eyes narrowed, "you can answer me three questions and then decide what you want to do."

I lift my beanie and scratch at the overgrown Mohawk beneath. "What are your questions?"

"How many walkers have you killed?"

I shrug. The number was too high to count—but it wasn't because I was trying to search them out. When a person traveled, they were bound to run into a few of the sick. "A lot," I say with a sigh as my hand drops back down to my side. "Too many," I add.

Rick arches an eyebrow. "Alright, how many people have you killed?"

I shift my eyes and focus on the bark of a tree. This was never something I thought I would have to answer. I bite my lip. "Six—,"

"Six people," Tara repeats with a gasp.

"Hold on," Rick says, turning partway to her with his hand rose as if to stop her from going on. "Times have changed. We all know that." He looks back at me. "Why?" his third and final question.

I shake my head as Glenn and Tara seem less at ease. "Do you want the long answer or the short?"

"Whatever one you feel best about."

I take a deep breath and release it with a sigh. "I've run into a lot of trouble on my way here," I begin. "There are a lot of bad people out there—some good, others dodgy… but a lot of bad." I cross my arms. "I'm not exactly strong. People see it as a weakness... and it kind of is," I say with a slight grin as I wipe the sweat beading on my forehead. My brow furrows as I struggle to keep the memories far enough away to not feel them anymore. "They think that just because I don't have the muscle mass of a bodybuilder they can do things to me that no one should ever do… to anyone. "They think that because I'm small I can't do anything… I can't fight back." Tara's eyes soften for a moment.

"I killed because I was in danger. I wouldn't have done it if I thought there was another way out." I press my lips together making them flatten into a thin line. "Five were men—two bigger than yourself—," I nod my head to Rick, "another was a woman. She was bat-shit crazy and took after me with a butcher's knife." I try to read them as they listen. "I didn't want to do it—not to any of them." I palm my forehead. "That's a fucking lie. Those men, they deserved it—but I never planned it. It just happened."

"Okay," he says with a single nod. "Now, here are your options, Alex; you can either continue on your own, or you can come with us. We have food; we have shelter." Glenn rolls his eyes as he hangs his gun on his belt. "It's a close knit group. We look after each other."

I start shaking my head, but he cuts me off, "There's safety in numbers, Alex. Believe me, if anyone should know that, we do."

My arms lower back to my sides. "What about my brother?"

"You can keep looking for him—just don't lead any walkers back to the camp. I respect your wishes, but it cannot be over other priorities. If someone needs help with gathering supplies, I don't want to hear about how you never go. If laundry needs to be done, you need to help out." I furrow my brow at the man's words. "Like I said, the choice is yours."

"How many of you are there?"

"Enough," he says followed by a moment of silence filled with anticipation.

Tara finally lowers her gun and steps forward. "You know how you said there were a lot of bad people?" I look at her. "Well, Rick and his group probably the last good people you'll ever meet."

I look down at my torn shoes. "What difference would it make if I came or stayed?"

"It's give me peace at mind," Rick says with a slight grin. "I have a son; he's about the same age as you. If he was out on his own, I would hope he would find people. For the sake of your parents, you should come with us." His hands rest on his hips. "We might even have a few of our own willing to help you in your search. It won't be easy, though. You'll have to gain their trust—maybe even become friends with them," he says with a chuckle.

I clench my jaw. "I don't do 'friends'."

"That's okay. Just come with us; stay the night and if you like it best on your own, leave. No one will hold you back." Rick shifts his footing. "What do you say?"

I bend at my waist and lift my bag. "I can leave whenever I want?" He nods. I toss the bag over my shoulder and shrug. "Where is it?"

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**This is my first Walking Dead fanfic, so I am sorry if I don't capture the characters too well. I am trying my best and hopefully it will get better with each update.**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

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**_Thank you so much, _Scarkit96. _I really had no idea that's how it looked. I must have messed it up when I tried to replace the chapter a week ago. Again, thank you._**

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**Chapter Two**

We walk in silence; for however long, I am unsure. All I know is by the time Rick calls for us to stop I can feel three decent sized blisters bubbling on my feet and begging to be popped.

"I know this is a bit invasive," he begins. I hated that word—I hated it even before everything. I remember a doctor once saying 'invasive' and the feeling that followed afterwards were not too pleasurable. "But," he turns towards me, his hands rising to his hips, "I need to know what you're bringing into the camp before we go in."

"I said I was unarmed," I say, my voice quiet but firm.

"I know, I know," he says with a nod. "I just have to make sure everything you have is safe." Rick raises his hands in a shrug. "You can even empty it yourself."

"What if I say no?" I ask with my brow furrowed.

"Then this is the end of our journey together, Alex." I look at Glenn and Tara. "You guys go up ahead," Rick orders. "We'll catch up, don't worry," he assures as Glenn cocks his head slightly. Without further word, they leave and it is just Rick and I. "I have to make sure you're not packing anything that could pose as a threat to us. I don't know you and you don't know me."

He watches and waits until the two are out of earshot before he sighs. "It's just you and me now. You don't have to worry about anyone else seeing your personal items." I feel my nostrils flare. How could a complete stranger have the gull to even ask—sorry, demand—to see the inside of my pack?

"What are you afraid of?" he asks. "Me seeing your dirty magazines," he says with a slight chuckle. "I was a kid once, too." I feel my ears burn red. "I get it." He takes a step towards me. "I'm not going to take anything away from you—I won't even tell anyone what is in there—,"

"Clothes and a water jug three quarters empty," I utter.

Rick's blue eyes stare at me for a moment, his brow raised as if waiting for me to continue. He shakes his head. "I need to see."

I sigh and drop down my bag and then plop to my knees. I rip at the pull string and toss the flap away carelessly. "See," I say as I throw a handful of clothing to the grass. "And my jug—," the jug makes a hollow splashing sound as it hits the ground and rolls.

"I need you to flip the bag upside down."

I sigh and grip the bag from the bottom and just as I am about to look up at him triumphantly, something falls to the ground. I feel my heart sink at the sudden remembrance. Clothes and water were not all I was packing.

The box sits open and the contents spilled on the grass as Rick furrows his brow and narrows his eyes. "Tampons," he says, unsure to chuckle or stuff the supplies back into my bag. My ears are now on fire. "W-why—," he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. "Why—," he cannot seem to get the question out. "Why do you have those?"

I cannot look him in the eyes. "The last group I was with had me do runs." I shrug. "One of the girls needed them and so I offered to..." I look at the open box and shake my head. "We never made it back." He stares at me for a moment, his brow still knitted. "I get nose bleeds sometimes," I add. "It beats wasting toilet paper." I shrug and look up at him as his brow rises and eyes fall to the grass. "Can I put my things back?"

He merely nods his head. As I begin tossing the items back in, he bends over and tosses the box, leaving the feminine products on the ground. "If you're going to keep them, get rid of the bulk." I look up at him, my lips parted slightly. "If you _do_ end up leaving, you're going to want to have as much room in your gym bag as possible." He watches as I roll my clothes back up, his eyes narrowing again.

"How much further is this camp of yours?" I swing the bag around and stand, raising my chin in a haughty way.

Rick nods his head off in the direction the other two went. "About a five minute walk from here."

I nod and take a step forward. I knit my eyebrows. "Well," I say, nodding my head, "are you going to lead the way?"

Rick begins walking, slow enough to be at my side but fast enough to not allow me to get ahead of him. "Did you talk to your parents like this?"

"Please, stop bringing them up," I spit before clenching my jaw. Silence blankets us once more. I scoff and shake my head. "You don't even know if they're dead or alive. Sensitivity would be the proper way to go about a subject like that."

"Sensitivity isn't exactly common practice these days," Rick says, his eyes looking down.

I take a breath and exhale with the words; softening them slowly as they come out, "You just…" I turn my head to him. "You need to stop."

"Then the attitude needs to change," Rick says.

"I don't see that happening," I retort.

Rick sighs. "Then you don't talk." I feel my nose wrinkle with disagreement. "I can live with someone angry every once in a while, but I'm not putting up with a teen's short fuse. I already have one I have to put up with." Rick look at me for a quick second. "I don't have to deal with yours." He gestures to the right and we turn. "It may have gotten you far before, but not here."

I roll my eyes and continue walking with him. This was another cause for my single party. No matter their age, _they_ always said _I_ was the problem. I wipe the sweat off the back of my neck and hiss out a breath as the sun beats down on us. The heat wasn't that bad—I could live with it being hot—but the humidity was something terrible. It made your skin stick and hair frizz out.

As we make way across a railway track, I see it. A wrought iron fence surrounds the building. The building itself could use a coat of paint, but—other than a few boarded windows—it seems in good condition. To the southern side of the building, two people work at putting a second fence up, the boards all different lengths.

"This is it?" I turn to Rick.

"Yep." He stops and turns his head to me, his eyes looking at the building. "Looks like Bob and Tyreese are staring on the backup barricade." Rick continues walking. As I follow, he turns his head over slightly in my direction. "It's not exactly a tight ship we run, but, when things need to be done, they get done." He hits the fence three times before a small figure comes running towards the gate before us. The boy takes out a key and opens up the padlocked chain.

"How's Judith doing?" Rick asks the boy.

"Carol said it's just a cold," he says, pulling the gate open and then shutting it as we come through. "She finally fell asleep about an hour ago."

"Good," Rick nods. "Alright," he turns to me, "Carl, can you show Alex his room?"

"Where?"

Rick inverts his eyebrows and sighs. "On the second floor, across from Michonne's—,"

"That's where Abraham and Rosita are staying."

"First floor, the room before the stairs—,"

"Daryl called it last week—,"

"Well, find somewhere, Carl." Rick shakes his head. "I have to go."

"Of course you do," he murmurs. I dart my eyes to him as he glares at the back of Rick's head. He sighs loudly and hangs his head low before bringing it up to look at me. "I heard Glenn and Tara talking about you when they got back." He sticks a hand out. "Carl Grimes. My dad's Rick."

I take his hand and shake it. "Alex Hawk." I release his hand and we walk towards the building. "I got the feeling he was your dad." I look across and see the three people stop working on the makeshift fence and talk to Rick as he approaches. "Must be nice to having family so close," I say, my eyes looking back to the building.

"We're not all family," Carl says. "It's just my dad and Judith. Everyone else is…"

"Family," I finish for him.

Carl reaches out for the door and opens it, allowing me to enter the building first. It's dark, musty, and damp. If I thought the humidity was bad outside, I was wrong. I take four steps in, my shoes echoing off the cement floor and bouncing off the chipped walls.

"How many of you are there?" I ask, turning back to Carl as he wipes his palms on his pants.

His brow wrinkles with though. "Fourteen—fifteen, if you count Judith… but she doesn't really do much other than drool and crawl."

I raise my brow. I hadn't seen a child younger than twelve little lone a baby who couldn't even walk. It was unheard of. Carl shrugs. "I think this place was a storage house. There aren't many offices upstairs, and down here there are only two janitorial closets; both claimed." He points to the stairs. "Mind as well head up to check if any rooms are up for grabs." I nod and follow him as we head to the steps and slowly march up. "Worst case scenario, you'll be sleeping on the paper pile in the corner over there," he says as he points out a pile of fliers and printer paper. "It's pretty comfy—but you might wake up to someone looking through it for something to start a fire."

"I'd rather be a little higher up," I murmur.

As we walk through the hall, we pass an open door and Carl waves at the woman in it. She waves back but stops her hand as I come into view. "Still sleeping?"

"She got up for about five minutes, but went back down after I gave her more Tylenol." She crosses the floor and stands before the door, cutting me off from seeing in. Her hair is cropped short, a salt and pepper mix, and her features soft like a dolls but eyes more intense than a feral cat. "Speaking of which," she says, "can you tell your dad we're going to need some more for Judith? I'd do it myself, but you see him more often."

"Yeah," Carl nods. Suddenly, as if the woman's stare on me remind him, he says, "This is Alex. Uh—the kid Glenn and Tara were talking about when they got back."

She hums for half a second as if it's all I deserve for acknowledgement. "Nice to meet you, Alex," she finally says. "I'm Carol." I nod as her gaze returns to Carl. "If you're looking for a room, I think you might be out of luck."

"I'll probably be gone before tomorrow," I say making both their eyes come back to me. I feel myself shrink slightly. "Rick just wanted me to test the waters. I don't think this is my thing…"

"We'll see," Carol says with a quick but sad grin followed by a prolonged silence.

"We should go," Carl pipes up. "Come on," he says with a wave as he continues down the hall. I look back at Carl and watch as she turns back into the room.

"Is it just me or is it a little cold in here?" I say as I catch up with him. Carl's brow inverts as he catches me from the corners of his eyes. I lower my eyes to the wood floor and shake my head. "You guys are so friendly," I say sarcastically.

Carl finally turns his head to me. "What did you expect?" He steps before a door and cracks it open just to shake his head. "Occupied…" We continue down the long hall. "If you're not planning on staying, why would people want to get to know you?" Carl points at a new door and I open it and nearly jump as a person stares back. "Sorry, Sasha; forgot you were in here." The woman gives a smile and closes the door with my hand still on the knob.

Carl sighs and palms his face. "Why are you here, anyway?"

I point to a door and he shakes his head. "Your dad wanted me here." I push my floppy hair out of my face. "He wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed to see the place for myself."

"Sounds like him," Carl says with a smirk. As we reach the end of the hall, his hands raise in an exaggerated shrug.

I let out a chuckle. "Looks like the paper pile's mine tonight." As I begin back down the hall, Carl stops me.

"Wait," he begins. I turn back to him and arch an eyebrow. "If you're only staying one night, maybe I could share my room."

I let out a laugh and begin to shake my head but stop as I see his seriousness. "You're a little old for sleepovers, don't you think?"

"You can have the mattress."

Excitement makes my blood run quick—not the excitement that comes from running away or killing off the sick, but the nice kind; the excitement from before. I hadn't slept on a mattress for at least six weeks. "You're willing to give up your bed?" He nods. "You don't even know if I'm a bed wetter."

"I'll put a tarp over it."

I laugh—a real laugh. I scratch the back of my head. "Maybe," I tease him as I swing my bag off my shoulders. "But I want to see the quality first."

Carl nods. "It's just up here," he says, opening a door to a set of stairs.

I raise my brow and nod. "The higher the better."

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**The next chapter will be posted on Friday. I hope you enjoyed this installment.**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

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**Chapter Three**

"Not too shabby," I say as my body still bounces from the landing. The springs sing out with each movement I make. I drop my bag on the floor and look around the room from my new vantage point. "You didn't say it was a bunk bed." The walls are pealing and the floor is chipped in the corners, but it had four walls, something a tree didn't have.

"It's not complete," he says as he lowers himself in a chair, his eyes looking up at the bed. "Tyreese said on the next run he would look for another mattress." Carl wipes his nose. "It wasn't a priority before…"

I laugh. "It still isn't." I sit up and hang my legs before dropping down. I bend over and test the board—the substitute mattress for the bottom bunk. When I've determined it can take my weight, I sit on it, looking across at Carl. "This is more my style." I smirk.

He stands and furrows his brow. "I'm cool with you taking the top."

"No," I say shaking my head. I lower my back onto the board and sigh. "It's better than sleeping in a tree—,"

"You were sleeping in a tree?" His mouth gapes open while his eyes narrow in disbelief.

I bring my head up and smirk before I nod. "Yeah…" I raise my brow. Had it not been for the last few months out here, I probably would have reacted the same way. "You have to be careful," I add, Captain Obvious putting words into my mouth. "The branch needs to be about the width of your head and there needs to be a groove where you can sit." I push myself up, ducking my head below the bar above. "Sometimes it's comfy." I sigh. "More times than not, you wake up with a stiff back and a crick in the neck—but it beats being eaten."

"Did you ever fall?"

I chuckle slightly. "Yeah, a few times," I say rubbing my wrist at the remembrance of spraining it the last time I took a fall. "Once," I begin, "when I was in Minnesota—it was about a week after I left my first group." I pause for a second, seeing if he truly has an interest for the story. Carl cocks his head and I smile. "I was really tired but hadn't found anywhere to stay for the night and by the looks of things, it was going to be a long while before I found anything." I rest my elbows on my knees as I lean forward. "I saw a tree and thought, 'I wonder how Tarzan did it,'."

Carl lets out a laugh. He pinches one of his cheeks up. "Are you serious?" I nod with a grin. He laughs again. "Tarzan's a fictional character—,"

"I know that." I look at the wall and shake my head. "I climbed up the branches, and got to the highest one that would take my weight. I fell asleep after about an hour; my pack hanging off on a forking branch." I let out another chuckle. "I woke up." I palm my forehead and closed my eyes. "But I wasn't in the tree anymore—and my back _really_ hurt."

"How far was the drop?" he asks, sitting back down.

"Fifteen feet or so," I say, my laughter bubbling in the back of my throat; embarrassment making my voice shrink and change pitch. Carl laughs again. "I guess when my body fell; being asleep loosened me enough for the landing that wouldn't hurt me too bad." I sigh. "I'd say I learned something from that—but I did it two more times after." I run a hand through my hair. "The last one was about a ten foot drop, though," I say as an after thought.

"What about your bag?" he asks, catching me off guard.

I raise my brow, the lightness of the story suddenly coming back heavy. "I had to leave it," I say. "I could hear groans in the trees around me. I tried to climb back up, but I was too scared they would circle me." I point to my pack. "That's the sixth one I've had so far. When people find my first pack, they'll be in for a real treat."

"What did you have?"

I shrug. "Canned goods, for the most part," I say. "It was heavy—but it wasn't the cans that caused most of the bulk." I smirk. "At the camp I left, before I went I took about—," I narrow my eyes at the memory, "—eight grenades." I shake my head. "They had a lot—and I wouldn't have taken them if I didn't think they could do without." I sigh. "All gone because of a stupid fall—,"

"Carl—," we both turn our heads to the door as Rick peeks at up.

"Yeah, dad," Carl answers as his back straightens.

Rick opens the door fully and sees me sitting on the board. "No more rooms left?" he asks, nudging his head towards me.

"No—I can share with him for the night. I don't mind." He smirks. "Alex was just telling me about—,"

"I'm going for a run. We're leaving in a bit; do you want come or stay?"

Carl's brow inverts. "I thought you said you didn't want me going anymore."

Rick exhales loudly through his nose. "That was before. You're older now—I think you can handle it better."

"Yeah-sure," Carl says with a definite nod. He stands, ready to leave the room before he abruptly stops. "What about Alex?"

Rick looks at me as I sit, my eyes set on the floor. "Do you want to tag along? We could use the extra hands."

I look to Carl as he grins and then at Rick. "Sure," I say as I stand from the board, brushing the wrinkles out of my stained pants.

* * *

"Daryl, Alex; Alex, Daryl," Rick says as we get out of the car.

"Hmm," the man says and then walks away. I roll my eyes as I see the angel wings on the back of his vest.

"Is he the strong and silent type?" I whisper to Carl making him choke back a giggle.

"How long are you planning to stay alive, you little punk?" Daryl marches back, his arms swaying with his swagger. I swallow hard. "With a mouth on you like that—,"

"Daryl," Rick calls out before the man can get nose to nose with me. I take a step back as the man stares me down.

"Whatever," Daryl grunts.

"Alright," Rick says, his hands rising as if to calm the tension. "We need to get some food. Anything canned—no candy, Carl. Not until we find actual food." He looks out at the neighbourhood and clears his throat. "It will go quicker if we separate into two groups; one starting from this end of the block and the other starting from the other." Rick looks up at the sky. "We have about three hours of daylight left, so no taking it slow. If you find a walker and it doesn't see you; keep quiet. We don't need to be wasting bullets if we can save them."

I furrow my brow. "Bullets?" I say making them look to me. I hated that—how if I spoke, suddenly, all eyes were on me.

"Is there a problem?" Daryl narrows his eyes at me and, once again, the tension is back.

"Alex doesn't do guns," Rick says quietly, as if I should be embarrassed.

Daryl scoffs and rolls his eyes. "You'll be begging for a gun when one of them comes after you and no one's around to save your ass—,"

"I haven't used a gun so far—and I've come a long way." I straighten my back. "There are other things you can use to kill," I say.

"That's fine. We'll give you a knife—just stay close to whoever you're paired with—,"

"Won't be me, that's for damn sure—,"

"Why; afraid of a kid," I egg on.

Daryl takes a step forward and Rick jumps between us. He turns to me and shakes his head. "What did I say?" I furrow my brow at his words; my eyes lifting to him and then darting back to Daryl. "What did I say?" he repeats more firmly as he breaks off my view. "Change the attitude."

I grind my teeth and narrow my eyes as he steps back and continues explaining the plan. My mind isn't with his words; I'm far too busy staring down Daryl. He was the epitome of what I and, possibly, many others pictured a redneck to be. His shirt's sleeves were cut off, his face showed more wear of a rough life than a sand blaster, and his voice was deep and gruff and lacking that southern hospitality everyone hears all too much about.

I pull at my shirt, readjusting the neck and sleeves. On my search, I had run into many men like him—most of which were headstrong and stuck in their ways. Daryl was the first of them to actually listen to another human being.

I turn my gaze to Carl as he nods with his father's words. He _was_ about the same age as me—if not, a bit younger. His eyes were just starting to show that intensity that everyone else seemed to share. It was like a plague, those eyes. I hadn't taken the time to look in the mirror, but, at times, I was more than certain mine shared that same harshness.

Rick, on the other hand, had them without a doubt—they were like a war veteran's. He was the leader; you could see it in the way Daryl listened to him. A man like Daryl doesn't heed warnings—unless the person dealing them is respected. Rick was seasoned, having marinated a tad too long in this lifestyle, but it wasn't such a bad thing. It meant he knew how to survive.

"Alright," he says, "Carl, you go with Daryl. Alex and I will start at this end."

"You sure you can trust the brat?" Daryl grunts, his eyes narrowing at me for a quick second and then softening as they look back to Rick.

"Are you saying you'll take him?" Rick looks to him with his eyebrows raised and a grin pulling on one side of his mouth.

"No," Daryl spits quickly. "Come on, Carl."

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted on Friday. I hope you enjoyed this installment.**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

"He's all bark and no bite," Rick finally says after we enter a yard.

I pull at my shirt again and glare back in the direction the redneck went. "I could take him," I say, my words less convicting than my anger.

"Don't be stupid," he says, his hand patting my shoulder lightly as if he's afraid I will bite him. He licks his lips and starts up the porch's steps. "I've seen him take on more than just a scrawny kid. You wouldn't last a minute in a ring with him." I scoff; that's what he thinks. "Stop trying to put up this… this front. We're in this together—,"

"Unless I leave," I bark back making him hush me.

He smirks and lets out a chuckle. "I doubt you do." I roll my eyes as he presses an ear to the door. As he pulls away and opens it, he says, "I heard you and Carl laughing. It was nice to hear." He looks around the living room as I step in. I lean against a banister where stairs lead to the second floor. "The only other person he seems to do that with is Michonne." Rick cocks his head as he leers through a doorway to a kitchen. "Nice to see it's with someone a little closer to his age, that's all," he says as he turns his head to me for a moment.

Rick holds his finger to his lips and hushes me as if I'm the one causing all the noise. As we enter the kitchen, something falls and quickly, a rat races past our feet. "Sick," I whisper. Rick sticks his finger up in the air as if it will make my whisper disappear.

His eyes look up at the ceiling as something moves above. "Grab what you can and then we'll go to the next house—,"

"But a rat was just eating everything—,"

"We only take non-perishables." He shakes his head and rolls his eyes as he reaches out to a can of peaches. "That's all that's left." Rick pulls open two cupboard doors and starts piling the cans onto the counter. I walk towards him and start dropping the cans into one of my bags.

"What are you guys going to do when the cans start running dry?" I ask as Rick moves to the next two cupboards.

"I haven't thought that far ahead yet," Rick admits. "But when it happens, I'll be sure to let you know what I intend to do."

I sigh and move to the table in the corner. A newspaper still sits undisturbed, folded as it came. A coffee mugs sits next to a plate of all but there food, and suddenly an ache fills me. These people left in such a panic and most likely died before they ever felt safe again. I turn away, unable to continue to stay at the frozen moment in time.

"What else do you guys need?" I ask as Rick opens a new cupboard.

He turns towards me partway. "Tyreese was saying they needed more nails..." He shakes his head. "We'll probably find some in a garage somewhere."

I lean against the table, almost bored with the entire run. "Is Daryl always so angry?" I ask.

Rick gives a smirk. "He doesn't like change," he says simply. "None of us do, really. It's human nature not to." He reaches up and takes out a can of beans. "But it's change that keeps things lively. We need lively," he nods with his words as if agreeing with them.

"So," I begin, "tomorrow do you think I could go look for my brother?"

Rick turns again; his eyes catching me only long enough to give a blink. "You're staying now? What happened to one night? I thought you were high strung on leaving," he says with a chuckle.

"I might be," I say. "But I figured if Carl was willing to share his room, the least I could do was stay the night." Rick nods slowly, as if trying not to spook a horse.

"Well," Rick begins, "if you want to search, you're going to need more than just one person looking. You cover more ground that way," he says as if I had no clue. I just nod not willing to give him this 'attitude' he keeps bringing up. "I'd suggest recruiting Michonne or Daryl—but—," he shakes his head, "-you king of blew it with him. If you go after Michonne, you better handle her a little more delicately." I scoff. "Glenn might be willing. Maggie will want to join if he goes, too-,"

"Maggie?"

"His wife," Rick says.

"So many names," I remark with a sigh.

Rick closes the cupboard and stocks his bag with the contents he has found. "They'll get easier."

"Or," I say with a smirk, "I'll become my mother; 'Alex-Truitt-Amelia—whoever you are; come here!'" I chuckle at the memory and then fall silent. I hadn't spoken about her in so long—yet it felt like yesterday she and I were playing outside. I swallow back the lump in my throat.

"Amelia?" Rick furrows his brow.

I shake my head, not ready to invest so deeply with him. I turn back into the living room and wander into a sunroom just before the bathroom. After so long, I thought I had forgotten her name... her face. She was my sister. When hell erupted, she happened to have been in the military. Her unit left… but she never returned.

I look through the picture window and sigh. If I knew this last year would have been devoted to finding the last sibling I have, I probably would have opted for a lobotomy. Even with all my searching, there was still no hard evidence Truitt was alive—or if he even made it to Georgia, for that matter.

Rick turns into the room, his lips now pursed slightly and brow still furrowed. "What happened back there?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

He takes a breath as I continue to look out the window. "We've all lost someone—,"

"Do you really think I don't know that?" I bark as I turn to him. "I've met people who lost children—parents, aunts, uncles, the pet dog and family goat, too!" I feel my anger boil in my veins. "I'm not stupid. I know I'm not the only one—but I-I don't need you reminding me that!" I stomp out of the room, my hands balled up into fists.

As I get to the front door, I stop. "Are you done scavenging—," I look up the stairs and before I can scream, a body comes hurling on top of me. With two arms and half a leg, the walker pulls himself on top of me, his mouth open and ready for a bite as what's left of his other leg smears onto my pants. I close my eyes tight as I push his face away from mine. I'm about to belt out a scream when, suddenly, there is a thick _sfx_ followed by wetness across my face and chest.

When my eyes open, I see Rick loop a knife into his belt and the walker lye lifelessly on me. Before standing, I wipe my face and see the maroon blood of the walker smeared on my palm. I want to hurl—I want to holler in disgust—but instead, I look up at Rick. "Thanks," I say breathlessly, the word shocking my ears.

"They're drawn to sound," he nearly whispers. "Keep quiet…" He narrows his eyes. "If there's another one in here, I don't want it following us out."

I nod and he reaches a helping hand down to me. As I stand, he opens the door and we leave quickly and very quietly. With the afternoon breeze, I take a deep breath and bend over; the sudden adrenaline rush making my body vibrate.

"What happened?" I straighten and see Carl and Daryl down the driveway.

Rick pats my back and steps down from the porch. "Just a walker, nothing we couldn't handle."

"What was with all the hollering?" Daryl stomps forward, a crossbow ready to take aim and fire.

"Nothing," Rick repeats. "We're fine—,"

"It was my fault," I say as I go down the three steps.

"Big surprise there," Daryl grunts.

I shake my head, not willing to start barking again. "I got upset, that's all—,"

"You almost got us killed," Daryl says, his eyes warning and muscles tense.

Rick shakes his head. "Everyone's fine. No harm, no foul."

"No foul, my ass."

Carl approaches me slowly, his eyes examining all the blood. He makes a face and I give a knowing nod. That face was the universal sign of _eww_ without having to say it. "Did you find anything, at least?" he asks.

I hand him the bag and motion to Rick's. "How about you?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "No, but I did find some Tylenol—,"

"Oh, right, for… Julie?"

"Judith," he corrects. "It's adult," he adds with uncertainty, "I was thinking we could cut it up for her."

"Were there any walkers?" Rick asks.

"Daryl heard one in the basement, and there was another locked in a bedroom."

Rick shakes his head. "Not the best neighbourhood, I guess."

Daryl's brow lowers. "Are you calling it quits?" he asks; his voice more than a bit softer.

Rick nods. "It's too risky with the kids—," Carl opens him mouth to protest, but Rick raises his hand making the kid silence. "We should get back, anyway. They'll be wondering where we went off to."

"Alright," Daryl says with a nod. In unison, each of them goes back to the car. I lag behind, hoping to keep as much distance from Daryl as possible. After a moment, Carl slows down.

"Is that the type of tree you'd sleep in?" he asks, pointing to a big oak with low, thick branches.

I shake my head. "It's too close to the road," I say with a smile. "Grass makes a better landing than asphalt."

* * *

** Let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

The dark figure pushes me down, his body a shadow with the force of a freight train. I try to stand, but he pushes me back down. I feel tears well in my eyes; a muffled scream reaches my tongue, but no one is there to hear it. He flips me and starts ripping at my pants as I fight to keep them up. I kick my legs back and hit his groin—an opening to freedom I cannot spare. I take no time and push myself up, my bare legs feeling the humidity of the summer night. Before I can stand, a hand grips my hair and pulls me back down. My cheek is flattened onto the grass below, leaves crunching underneath.

My eyes burst open, my chest rising and falling with my heavy breath. I close my eyes again, calm slowly engulfing me as I realise the dream is over. I snuggle my head on the pillow bellow and sigh. The tranquil relief is lost once I turn my head and look out into the darkness. The figure is there. It hovers over me, looming and leering as I lay stiff with shock and immobilizing fear.

My lips peal back from around my teeth and I scream bloody murder as I jump off the board and into the darkness. I am disoriented; my arms stretch out in front of me in my blind run. I trip over something on the floor and land with a _thud_, heavy and hard. My lungs are burning from the strain as I jump when the body turns towards me.

I want to cower, I want to close my eyes and pretend this will all go away—but, instead, I stand and break for the door. I misjudge a step and end up sliding down four of them in the stairwell, my knees and ankles battered and sore. As I pull open the second floor entrance, a figure stands before me, taller than the last. I back away on the steps, my eyes looking quickly at the top only to see the other dark figure waiting.

Sweat falls from my brow as my nerves tingle with electricity. Before I can stop it, I push past the one in front of me. His arms wrap around my torso for a quick second, but release once I rip at the hands.

I race down the hall, my eyes struggling to see the floor below. Suddenly, a door swings open and I fall back against the opposing wall. A candle lights the hall and just before a scream can creep up my throat, my memory comes back. The doll faced woman appears, her tired eyes hooded as she looks down at me.

* * *

"What happened?" I hear Rick ask from the other side of the door. My episode was enough to wake the sleeping and concern those who witnessed it. "I thought someone was dying up there," he says.

There's silence for a moment, and I lower my head between my knees as Carol stands across from me. She silently volunteered to keep an eye on me once Rick took Carl into his room for questioning.

"He was kicking my mattress and when I went down to tell him to stop, he just…" the words are muffled and end inaudible.

Carol slides herself down the wall, her knees at her chest and sad eyes looking at me. She lowers her candle to the floor. "You gave us quite the scare," she says finally.

I look under my brow at her as she cocks her head in a motherly concern. "It was just a bad dream," I mutter.

"Sounded like it was a little more than just a nightmare," she remarks, though there is a certain care in her words. She stretches one leg out and leans forward slightly. "Do you want to talk about it?" I shake my head and lower my eyes back to my feet. Carol hums softly; I can feel her eyes burning a hole through me. "You know, when Carl comes out, Rick's going to want to talk to you—,"

"I don't want to talk about it," I say softer as my eyes fight to stay open.

I look down the hall and see a few faces peeking out of doorways. A mix of anger and embarrassment makes me shrink. Carol looks the same way and suddenly the faces are back behind the doors. "If you want, we can go to my room." She begins to stand up. "I think I have some pills that will help you sleep. A growing boy needs his sleep," she says making me roll my eyes. Sleep was the enemy. If I didn't wake up screaming, I woke up with bruises from my kicking legs and thrashing arms. It was a wonder I how I managed to stay on the branches. "Come on," she coaxes. "I'll even give you an extra shirt—,"

"What's wrong with my shirt?" I ask defensively but too tired for an argument.

Carol gives another one of her sad grins. "Honey," she starts, "it's soaked right through. Don't worry about it." She smirks as I pull on the neck and wipe my hand off on the leg of my boxers. "I can spare one," she adds with a nod as I push myself up.

We walk down the hall and stop as she opens the door. With the candle in her hand, I can see a mattress on the floor and a desk piled up with clothes. I jump as the door shuts and she gives me a shy grin. "Sit down, make yourself at home," she says as she passes me and heads straight to the desk. As she goes through the pile, I sit in the office chair I first saw her in. To my left, Judith sleeps soundly, her thumb stuck in her mouth and head nuzzled into the flooring of the playpen. At least someone was still sleeping.

"It might be a bit big, but it should do until we wash your shirt," she tosses a burgundy sweater my way.

I catch it and hold it out. Small holes from age around the bottom allow the candlelight to shine through. I lower it to my lap. "I have other shirts," I say.

"Are they clean?" she asks. I pause for a moment and then shake my head. "Don't feel bad; I know how boys are." Carol leans on the desk and folds her arms across her chest. "If it weren't for me and Tara, I think it would be a year before people did laundry." She smirks at me. "Well, put it on. Let me see how it fits—there might be a smaller one around somewhere."

I stand from the chair and begin to pull my shirt up and then stop. As if taking the hint, Carol lets out an, "Oh," and turns away. I pull my shirt off and quickly toss it onto the chair. As I lower the sweater around my waist, I hear a gasp. I turn my head over my shoulder and see Carol with her hand over her mouth as she looks at my abdomen. "What happened?" she asks, almost breathlessly.

I drop the shirt the rest of the way down and shake my head. "Nothing—,"

"That is not nothing," she says as she takes three quick steps my way. Her hands try to lift the shirt back up, but I smack them away. "You could have a serious injury," she says as if it is enough to make me change my mind. "Does it hurt?" Her blue orbs turn grey as the candlelight flickers.

I furrow my brow. It had been so long since another person showed concern for me that is was almost otherworldly. I shake my head. "Only when I touch it," I admit.

"Did someone hit you?"

The figure had smacked me a few times, but the bruises had all faded and little was left of the scratches on my face and neck. I look to the floor. He had elbowed me in the side, knocking the air out of me; that was when the pain had first originated. "I don't remember."

"You don't just forget something like that," Carol says, annoyance sounding sharply in her voice. She rolls my shirt up part way, the black and purple bruise looking darker in the lighting. Carol flattens her lips and covers the bruise again. "How are you peeing?" she asks and I almost choke at the question. She furrows her brow as my jaw slacks. "This is serious, Alex. You could have a ruptured kidney."

I take a step back and turn partly away from her. "There's a little blood," I say, breaking the silence between us.

"Are you going regularly?" I nod. "Any pain?" she asks.

"What are you a doctor?" I bark. Carol straightens, her eyes widened and lips parted.

She relaxes and then shakes her head. "No, but I've had my fair share of bruises," she says with her voice dropping slightly. She turns her head away as if I have insulted her. "We should get you back. Carl should be out of there by now," her voice in monotonous. I nod slowly and make way to the door first. As I leave, Carol follows with the candle back in her hand.

Shadows dance across the walls and floor and, just as we stop at the room Rick took Carl in, the door opens. I lower my eyes quickly as Carl's try to meet with mine. As he passes me, Rick sighs loudly. "Come on in," he says, swinging a hand into the room. I look to Carol and she nods. As I pass Rick through the doorway, Carol takes a step in. As much as I don't want to admit it, having her with us in the room made me feel little more at ease.

* * *

**Guest user who placed the review last chapter: I understand that, I wanted to be pretty gender neutral when it came to Alex referring to Alex. Next chapter should give you some insight. It would have been this one, but the chapter would have been quite lengthy. However, I will be uploading chapter six in a few days. I hope you don't stop reading because of this little uncertainty. Sorry for the frustration. And thank you very much for reviewing.**

* * *

**Let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

"Do you know what night terrors are, Alex?" Rick asks as he he stands in front of the shut door. Carol turns to him and then looks back at me, but I do not answer. "Carl said you jumped out of bed screaming—do you remember why?"

I shrug as Rick walks across the room and sits behind a desk. Carol takes one of the two chairs in front of the desk, and I slowly pull out the other and sit. "I was having a bad dream," I finally say. "I wasn't sure if I was awake or sleeping," I lie.

Carol raises her brow at Rick and then turns to me after he gives a small nod. "Alex," she begins, "the last people you were with—did they hurt you?"

I shudder at the question. "No," I say with a shake of my head, not sure if they believe my answer.

Carol furrows her brow and Rick leans forward. "What was the dream about?" he asks.

I shift in the chair making it roll on its wheels slightly. "It was dark." I dart my eyes to Rick and then look to the desk. "Someone was chasing me… I was running away."

"Does this sort of thing happen often?" he asks, referring to the episode. He was starting to see... he was starting to realize just how weak I was.

I attempt to fight back a yawn but yield to it as I shake my head—another lie; I can tell they don't believe it, though. As I'm about to add onto my answer for convincing, Carol cuts me off. "He has quite the bruise on his side," she says. I glare at her, but she doesn't seem fazed by it. "I asked him about it, but he said he didn't remember—,"

"I'm right here," I say as I straighten my back. "I can speak for myself."

"Then start talking," Rick says. He takes a breath and then leans back in his chair. "If you're going to be here, Alex, we need to know what to expect from you. If these… things are going to be routine, we can try to figure out what would be best for you."

I shake my head. Carol's eyes look to me, but I cannot look back, my eyes are almost glued to the desk with the embarrassment I feel. "Do you know anything that seems to spark the episodes—is there anything we can do to help stop them?" she asks, her head shaking at the words with uncertainty.

"How long have you had them?' Rick adds to the questions.

I grip the arms on my chair and swivel myself side to side. Carol's hand reaches out and stops my motion. "You need to answer us," she says, her voice rising slightly as her eyes lock with mine.

I stand from my chair making the woman gasp softly. "I don't have to answer you." I look to Rick for a second and shake my head. "I don't have to answer any of you." I take a step towards the door. "You don't have to worry about me—I can handle myself."

"That attitude is what gets people killed," Rick says.

I sigh and make my way to the door. As my hand rests on the knob, I turn my head back to them. "You guys should go back to sleep," I say. "I'll get my stuff in the morning."

"Where are you going—,"

"Don't worry about it."

Rick stands from his chair. "If you leave now, you won't be around for morning."

"I'm just going outside." I open the door. "I'll come back in when everyone's awake." I lower my head. "Just let me know when that is." I shut the door as I step into the hall.

They didn't want me here, I knew that. The only reason for their questions was because they wanted me to have security—no matter how false it was. I walk briskly to the steps and begin to descend. Fences were only good for so long. Barricades could break and doors could only take so much weight. It was only a matter of time before these people were dead—myself included.

My bare feet slap on the cement floor as I walk on the main level. In my last group, they got mad at me for sleeping daylight away—but they didn't know what I did at night. Everyone feared the evening air, it seemed. They thought walkers were more _alive_ when the moon came up—but there was no difference. If anything, the darkness was an advantage. Their sight was bad, and even worse in the moonlight.

I open the door and feel the cool evening breeze. The air carries the musty scent of rain—but by the looks of the sky, rain was nowhere near ready to fall. I make my way to a near by truck. As I step up into its trailer, it lets out a low wheeze from my weight. It is old and rusted; by the looks of things, it didn't run either.

I sit with my back against the rear window and look up at the stars. I shiver as the wind picks up. There were only a few hours left of night—hours I could have spent looking for Truitt. I pull my sleeves over my hands and tuck my arms through them until they rest skin on skin.

He wouldn't be scared—he wouldn't be stuck in a place he didn't want to be. He was strong. I shake my head. He _is_ strong.

My eyes close. Maybe he was looking for me. Maybe he went back home—and that was the reason I couldn't find him. My hands touch the tenser bandage around my chest. He would have laughed if he saw me now. I roll my eyes and smile. His little sister dressed up as a boy. He'd probably say I looked better this way. The hair from my Mohawk falls into my eyes as the wind dies down. He'd hate the Mohawk—but I'd keep it just to bother him.

With my eyes closed and my body under the familiar sky, sleep takes me all too quickly. I dream—but what about, I'm not entirely sure. I do, however, know Truitt's there.

I see his smile.

I see his blood.

* * *

**And now we all know Alex's gender. I, honestly, wasn't sure which to choose. I liked the idea of Alex being a boy, but-considering the end has now been written-Alex being a girl allows for a nice touch. Just so you know, there will be no pairing-maybe a slight hint of a crush, but nothing cute and sweet regarding her or any other character.**

**Let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

"Wake up." I open my eyes and take a deep breath in through my nose as I stretch. I furrow my brow as I look to the sky. It is still dark—but the sun is slowly waking from its own sleep. I turn and bring myself up into a reclined position. I almost fall back down when I see a face looking at me from the other side of the trailer's edge.

I furrow my brow as Daryl makes his way to the tailgate and climbs in. I sit up quickly and he raises his hands as if to calm me. "You startle worse than a horse," he says. He shakes his head and lowers to the ledge across from me. "I ain't doing nothing," he adds as I pull my legs to my chest. His hand rises and scratches at the stubble on his cheek. "I heard what happened."

I feel my heart sink and I lower my head. "Who hasn't?" I ask rhetorically.

His eyes study me for a moment. "If you go, I don't want to see you again." I furrow my brow. That seemed easy enough to do—the country was vast enough. "Alive or walker," he adds. Daryl's eyes look out at the grounds. He shakes his head. "If you do go, you're even more stupid than I thought you were."

I look to my feet. "I have important things to do," I say.

Daryl shakes his head. "Like what; find a family member?" He scoffs. "We've all been down that route. Never ends good—,"

"My brother's out there," I nearly whisper. Daryl raises his brow; his mouth closes but his jaw is stretched.

He shuffles his feet making them push around the dirt and rocks on the floor. "I lost my brother," he says after a moment of silence. His eyes do not look at me as he keeps them fixed on something in the distance.

"Did you find him?" I hear myself asking.

Daryl's dark blue eyes look back at me and then dart away. "Twice," he says. "First time, he was different… second time…" He shakes his head. "_It_ was different." I raise my brow. His eyes look back at me. "You better hurry if you're leaving. The sun's already rising."

"What was different about him—your brother?"

Daryl shrugs. "Either I wasn't the same me or he wasn't the same Merle."

I wipe my palms on the legs of my boxers, trying to get rid of the dust on them from my sleep. "Was it worth it?" My chest swells at the question and, for a moment, I hope my words were too quiet for him to here.

He turns his head partly away, a hand scratching under his lip. "It was good to know he was alive," he finally says. Daryl shakes his head. "Worse to know he turned."

I bite my lip. Truitt—he wouldn't have turned—he couldn't have. "What was he like?" I ask trying to see if there was a fault in his brother's character where mine would triumph.

"He was an ass," he says through the side of his mouth, "tough as nails and hard as rock." Daryl looks to the trailer's floor. "But he tried to do the right things… even when they were wrong."

I feel myself lean towards him. "Do you think my brother's still alive?" I shake my head and try to ring the words out of my ears. I lower my head. "Sometimes I see people who have turned who look like they were strong and I wonder." I feel a lump grow in the back of my throat.

Daryl looks at me for a long minute. "Was he anything like you?" he asks.

I shake my head. "He's better than me," I almost whisper.

He narrows his eyes. "We find people all the time who shouldn't be alive…" Daryl draws in a breath. "If he's a punk like you, you better hope he's not with people." Truitt was good with people. Everyone was his friend. "On the same token, if he's too trusting…" He shakes his head. "People take advantage of that."

I nod slowly and then furrow my brow quickly. "Why are you out here?"

He makes a face and then swallows. "Carol told me you were here." He looks back at the building. "I thought you could use some company." I narrow my eyes at him. "You remind me of someone I knew."

I screw my face up and look away from him. "A friend of yours?"

"Sort of."

"Did they die?"

Daryl shakes his head. "No," he says. "They changed." He rubs the sleep from his eyes and stretches out his arms. "Are you going or staying?" he finally asks. I shrug. "Do you want my advice?" I watch him for a moment. "Stay." He shakes his head. "It's tough enough to be out here. Alone; it's worse. It turns you into somebody you aren't." Daryl's eyes look to me and then go back at the building. "Here, you know there's someone who can help you out." He swings his legs over the trailer's edge and then drops to the ground. "When you're by yourself, you're at the mercy of your own demons." He takes a step back. "If you decide being here is better, you're smarter than you look," Daryl adds before he walks back to the building.

I watch as he leaves and, before I know it, I'm racing after him. Daryl turns my way when he hears my raced footsteps approaching. "What needs to be done today?" I ask, a hand pushing the longer bits of my hair out of my face.

He stares at me curiously but knows better than to question it. "I heard Tyreese and Bob could use a hand with the barricade."

I nod and then quickly shake my head. "I wouldn't do well with that," I say as I think about the large boards and lifting. "What else?"

"I'm really not the person you should be asking," Daryl says, his eyes lowering to the ground. "Talk to Rick about it. He deals with that kind of stuff." He holds the door open for me and I enter. Daryl closes the door and points up the stairs. "He's in his room if you really want something to do."

I nod and slowly make my way to the stairs as Daryl veers off and into one of the janitorial closets. Step by step, I feel my shoulders tighten and this building urge to run and never come back. How was I to face Rick after everything? My hand slides off the railing and knocks my hip as I climb the last step. I take a deep breath as if it will help me build courage and begin down the hall.

Each door is closed. Everyone must still be sleeping. I reach Rick's door; second from last on the left. I knock once, twice. I raise my hand for a third but stop just short. It had been a long night. I turn away and lean against the wall. I would rather wait for him to leave than disturb his sleep yet again.

"You okay?" I hear a tired voice ask. I turn my head down the hall and see Carol peeking out her door. I nod once. Her sad eyes study me for a moment before she steps out into the hall to join me. Her arms are crossed as she looks down at me.

"I'm not talking about it," I say but she raises her hands and shakes her head.

"I'm not asking." She grins slightly.

I look back down the hall and then up at her. "Why are you awake?" I ask.

Carol shrugs. "Couldn't get much sleep after you stormed out." I scoff. She hardly knew me. She shakes her head. "Kids shouldn't be out on their own."

"I'm not really a kid anymore," I say.

Carol looks down at the floor and sighs. "I guess you can't really be one these days." I nod slowly. Her eyes rise back to me. "How old were you when this all happened?" she asks. I furrow my brow at the question. I give a curt shrug, but the answer isn't good enough for her. "Twelve—thirteen?" her eyebrows raise with the numbers.

"Eleven… but it wasn't until I was thirteen that it hit where I was." I shrug again. "I had it better than most kids."

"You sure did," Carol says with a nod. "Where are you from?" she asks with genuine interest.

I shake my head. "Nowhere you'd know—,"

"I doubt that. I know of a lot of places," she says with a challenging smile.

I shake my head. "Where I'm from is a dust particle on a map." Her blue eyes watch me, wait for my answer. "Dawson City."

"You're not too far from home," she says with a smile.

I shake my head. "I don't know what Dawson City you're thinking of, but the one I'm talking about it pretty far away." Carol furrows her brow. "It's about a four thousand mile walk from here." Her eyes widen for a brief moment. "It's in the Yukon Territory—Canada." I smirk. "Eh," I add making her let out a polite chuckle. "It took about eight months to get here."

"You've been alone all that time?" she nearly gasps.

I shake my head. "No. I hitched a ride with a couple of activists. They managed to get me as far as Valemount, BC. From there, I walked as far as my legs would carry me." I look up at her for a second and then look to the wall. "Somehow I ended up in Alberta… I don't know what the town was called—or even if it _was_ a town. A group took me in and, eventually, they decided to head to Grand Forks." I shake my head. "Something about it being a safe haven for wanderers." I sigh loudly. "It was bullshit. A lot of them ended up dying. There _were_ fifty… I left when there were only eight." I narrow my eyes.

"How did you get down here?" Carol asks, a mix of wonder and shock in her voice.

I raise my brow. "I walked." My brow lowers back down as I think. "Most of it was alone—and sometimes I was going in the wrong direction… but I managed."

"That's quite the journey for a little boy," she says, her eyes distant and voice soft.

I smirk. "And now it's been about four months looking for my brother," I say with a small chuckle. "Georgia is a pretty big place," I add as an after thought.

She nods. There's a touch of bitterness in her face, but she manages to smile. After a moment, Carol asks a new question, "What about your parents?"

I look to the floor. "As far as I know, my dad's dead. My mom…" I look to her, "—she's probably still kicking."

"You left her?"

I nod and rub the back of my neck. "After we got the news my sister was dead… my mom kind of just broke down. We both did… but… she just couldn't glue the pieces back together. I could. It had been almost two years since the whole thing happened and she just didn't have it in her to go look for my brother." I cross my arms. "My mom; she drank herself numb," I add. "She probably still doesn't know I'm gone—if she remembers me."

"She remembers you," Carol says with a slow nod. "A mother's love is like no other."

I nod, though I do not fully agree with her. "Anyway," I say with a sigh and then a chuckle trying to make light, "I came up here looking for work." I drop my arms and smile. "Do you have anything I can do?"

* * *

**Let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

I ring out the shirt in my hands and wince as the blisters between my indexes and thumbs pinch with the twist. As I pass the article of clothing to Carol, I look down at the water. The suds are all but there and the clear liquid has gained a near black taint. I dip my hands in and pull out a pair of jeans. Without saying anything, Carol steps towards me and takes the legs as we both twist out the water.

Back home, I hated laundry, but here, it was nice. With the added effort of ringing them out, it was—obviously—more work, but there was a sense of calm and normality with it. No one needed to speak, and that was an added bonus.

"My little girl hated doing laundry," Carol breaks the silence. I turn my head to her and then look back to the barrel of clothes. "She'd rather play with Carl or do school work—anything but this." She smirks and adds, "Anything to get out of doing it."

"I didn't know you had a daughter." I swallow hard. Children were always a touchy subject. "Did she look like you?" I ask, dodging the obvious question that only ended with sadness.

Carol nods slowly at first and then faster. "Yeah, she did." I watch as she hangs the jeans up on the line. "She had these little freckles across her nose," she says with a smile as her fingers dot her face. "She hated them," she says while rolling her eyes. Carol comes back to me and takes the shirt in my hands. "I loved them." She whips the shirt out and then proceeds to hang it. I turn my head quickly towards the fence as the scratchy growls of a walker sounds. "Looks like we're going to need some crowd control soon," Carol says as a new walker joins the first. They lean on the iron wrought fence, their arms reaching through and hungry eyes staring down the two men working on the fence. "They never stay away long enough," she adds with a sigh.

"What do we do?" I ask, my hands dripping with water.

"For now, we wait." One of her hands rises to her hip. "If there gets to be more, I'll let Rick know and see what he wants to do about it."

I nod and continue rinsing the clothes. "So, does Rick run this place or something?" I ask as I hand her a new piece of clothing.

Carol shrugs. "In a sense," she says. "We kind of all do our own thing… but if there needs to be something done, we step up to the occasion and more times than not, we check in with Rick first." She smirks. "Most of us mind our own business, but if it is something concerning, we're not afraid to get involved." I nod and grab a shirt and ring it out. "Speaking of which," she says carefully, "do you remember how you got that bruise now?"

I shake my head and Carol sighs. I hand her the shirt and look back to the walkers. "How long do you think it takes for one of them to starve?" I ask trying to change the subject. Carol narrows her eyes and ignores my question. "I say… at least a month." I pull out a pair of boxers and twist them. "Two, tops," I add.

"I know it's hard to talk about," Carol pesters, "but once you say it, it's like a weight's been lifted from your shoulders."

I drop the boxers back into the barrel. "What do you want me to say?" I ask with my brow furrowing. "Do you want some sob story about how three randoms chased me down and took all my shit—or do you want the one where someone took advantage?" I ask in an irritated tone, my voice rising. "Oh! How about the time where someone I thought was my friend used me as a human shield when walkers came after us? That was fun," I holler. Carol stands with her hand at her chest and lips tightly pressed together. "How about we just don't play 20 Questions with the newcomer?" I growl. "That's sounds like a solid plan."

"You okay, Carol?" I hear a low voice call out. I turn my head and see a tall dark man make his way to us.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she calls back with her voice faltering. Her answer doesn't stop the man from approaching.

I stare at her for a moment as the man stands at her side. "For the record," I say, "it doesn't feel like a weight's been lifted." I spin on my heels and begin marching back to the building, but a large hand grips my wrist.

"You can't talk to her like that," he says as I turn back. I narrow my eyes at him. "You can get as angry as you want; it's not going to change anything." I twist my arm away and just as I turn, I bump into something.

"You better apologize," Daryl says as he looks down at me. I feel my hands ball into fists. He readjusts his stance. "You think you can take me?" He laughs. "Try it, boy—,"

"Just let me go—,"

"Then apologize," he says while stepping in front of me as I take a step away. Daryl then nods his head off to Carol. "You don't know what that woman's been through. She's the last person who needs a brat hollering about how terrible their life is." He furrows his brow. "We've all been handed the shit end of the stick. Man up. Say you're sorry." I glare at him and he mimics me. "Well," he says with a shrug.

I turn back to Carol and she crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry," I spit.

Daryl nudges my back. "Say it like you mean it."

I turn my head part way to him, but know better than to fire up again. I swallow hard and take a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Carol," I say through gritted teeth. Carol nods as I turn back to Daryl. "Can I leave now?"

"No," he says and I make a face. "I think I have something better for you to do." Daryl's hand rises and squeezes the back of my neck making me wince in pain. He then leads me away from the area. As we walk around the building, his grip gets tighter and I let out a yelp. When we finally get to his destination, he tosses me forward making me hit the ground.

Daryl shakes his head as I rub my neck. "You're lucky I'm not my dad," he spits. He lowers himself to the ground before me. "I don't care how hard you think you've had it—that woman deserves nothing but respect, you hear?" he hollers making his spit fly onto my cheek.

"What; do you love her or something?" the words slip from my mouth with such a tone that even I know I deserve the slap that comes after my words. I hold my cheek and stare at the ground.

"If I ever catch you barking up the wrong tree again, I'll be sure to be the one dealing with you." Daryl's eyes narrow. "And it won't be just a love tap next time."

My eyes go back to him, hate making my face burn red hot. "Did you just bring me hear to smack me around?" I growl and another open palm comes my way.

"Respect; either get some or stop talking, punk." My hands pull at the grass below. I try to keep eye contact with him, but I have to look away too soon. He shakes his head and rises. "There's an axe over there. Start chopping some wood." Daryl narrows his eyes again. "Maybe a little hard labour will get rid of that bad temper." I stand up and hold the axe. "Don't you try anything stupid," he says as I glare back at him for a second. "I've got my eyes on you."

I roll my eyes and place the wood on top of the stump the axe was stuck in. As I raise the axe and begin to drive it down, something grabs it and stops the motion. I turn to see Daryl. "Never mind," he says. "No chopping for you. Go sit over there." He points to a tree a few metres away as he holds the axe over his shoulder. "You're grounded."

* * *

**The next chapter will be posted in a week from now. This is the last chapter (there than the last) I have pre-written and so I'll be taking the time to write a few more chapters ahead. Sorry for the inconvenience. **

**Let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

**A nice long chapter for those who waited ever so patiently for it.**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

I toss the freshly chopped wood into the pile and sigh loudly as I wipe my hands off on my jeans. I turn my head over and catch a glimpse of Daryl dropping his handful into the same pile. "Is this what you do all day?" I ask. It had been the first time I had spoken since our little scuffle.

"Did I say you could talk?" His eyes narrow at me. Daryl then points back into the direction of the chopping block. "What are you waiting for? The wood's not going to pile itself up." I sigh again and make a light jog back to the block.

As I bend, I hold my knee and wince. The journey I made to get here took a toll on my joints, and, with the humid weather, my knee ached more than it had ever. I pile the wood into my arms and Daryl hovers over me, watching carefully. Through the corners of my eyes, I can see him shaking his head.

"It works best if you stack them like a pyramid." I press my lips together and attempt to make the shape, but three chopped logs fall from my arms. "Get up," he says. I stand and watch carefully as he picks up the three fallen pieces.

"A solid base," he says as he corrects the ones in my arms. "You only want to build it up three levels... four if you feel daring," he adds making me feel a smirk tighten my lips. "When you get a little bigger, you should be able to carry more. For now, though, I'd stick with the three levels." Daryl nods and then gives me a pat off in the direction back to the woodpile.

As I march back to the pile, Daryl follows. "I doubt I'll grow much more," I admit and I nearly swear I can hear him chuckle.

"What; your dad wasn't a tall guy?"

I shake my head. "I don't really remember much of him..." I drop the wood and go back to the block. "My mom is pretty short, though," I say. "Truitt, my brother, he was pretty tall when I last saw him."

"How old are you?" Daryl asks.

I pause for a moment and, surprisingly, I have to think. I raise my brow. "Somewhere between fourteen and fifteen—probably closer to fifteen," I finally say.

Daryl nods. He lowers to the wood and piles it into my arms again. "You still have time." I shake my head and he looks down at me with a smirk. "'My brother used to be a giant compared to me," he says as we make our way back. "He had to have been at least a foot taller than me when I was growing up." Daryl shadows me. "Then one summer I sprouted like a weed. The next thing I knew, I was looking back eye to eye with him."

I release the logs and dust my hands off as we go back once more. "What did he say when he noticed?"

Daryl shakes his head. "I don't think he ever did." He pauses for a second. "I think he always saw me as his little brother."

"I wonder how tall Truitt's gotten," I say wistfully. I hadn't really had the chance to think of anything beyond figuring out where to look next. It was almost nice to think of what would be different about him the day we meet again.

Daryl piles the last of the logs onto me. There is a silence between us—but it is the words that aren't spoken that speak volumes.

"I know he could be dead," I say with a distant voice and a shallow nod. "But he could also be alive. I can't just... let that hope go."

"You have to hold on," Daryl says with a nod. "I get it."

As we make our way back, we move in silence. Daryl was an alright guy—albeit, he was rough around the edges—but he understood more than what I could say for the others in the past. He didn't ask questions and when I said something, he took it as it was and didn't read too mush into it. I liked that. I toss the wood onto the pile and wipe my brow.

"So, what was that you were hollering at Carol—about being a human shield?" he asks with a humored look on his face.

I look up at him and let out a breathless chuckle. I push back my Mohawk and smile. "This kid I met a few miles north of Knoxville, Tennessee…" I shake my head. "He seemed cool enough and we were both just kind of surviving, you know." Daryl nods. "I figured I'd mind as well stick with him because he was headed to Atlanta." We start walking back to the truck from the morning and stop as Daryl leans against it. "There was this horde… it was terrifying." I lick my lips. "It was the first time I had seen so many in one spot before. Anyway—," I shake my head, "—Kevin—the kid—got scared. It was stupid. We were both scared, but he was… I guess… smarter about it." Daryl furrows his brow. "When they started coming our way, Kevin grabbed the neck of my jacket and dragged me between him and them."

"Whoa,"

I nod. "I was screaming; telling him to stop, but he was too busy looking out for himself. In the end, he actually pushed me towards them and took off running like a bat out of hell."

"Sounds like an asshole—,"

"You can't judge a person off of that," I say with a shake of my head. Kevin was actually a pretty nice person. He shared his food with me when I has nothing left. Sometimes, we would talk like all of _this_ wasn't happening. He made me forget. "People do stupid things nowadays," I say, my heart feeling the justification but my words falling short of meaning it. I give Daryl a shrug. "Like I said, we were just trying to survive."

"_He_ was trying to survive—," he points a finger at me, "—you let your guard down and almost got yourself killed," Daryl clarifies bluntly.

"Better to die for a cause than die for nothing, am I right?" I ask with a cheeky grin and short shrug. Daryl's brow lowers again as he watches me. "There were a few close calls like that but I got out of them all still breathing—,"

"It's a wonder you're still alive," he comments.

I look to the ground and press my lips together. I take a deep breath and attempt to release the shallow anger begging to be release out. I look back up at him.

"I'm not good at a lot of things," I admit with a calm nod. "Running; that's my forte. I can sprint—I can do long distance—hell, I can even do hurdles," I say with raised eyebrows and a small smirk. I push back my Mohawk again and take another soothing breath. "When a walker comes at me, I do what comes natural—and, so far, it's been one hundred percent effective."

I put my hands in my pockets. "I know one day my legs will fail me—but I'm using them to my advantage while I still can." I shrug. "To me, there's no wonder why I'm still alive. Running is why I'm still alive. Stamina and resilience," I finish with a nod to each word.

"Okay, then," Daryl says as he takes a step away from the truck. "I didn't ask for a monologue," he adds with a grunt and folds his arms across his chest. "Were you training to be an Olympian or something before?" he asks after a moment.

I smirk and shake my head. "I hated running." I smack my stomach and let out a chuckle. "I have stretch marks that proved it." Daryl lets out a humored grunt. "But with this whole thing, I kind of had no choice but to run."

He nods. "Yeah," he says. "You're lucky you adapted." It's my turn to nod.

With all this talk, I can feel my legs burning; they want to run—not to get away, but to show off. "Do you want to race?" I ask, something about it bringing about a sense of childishness.

Daryl arches an eyebrow and looks me up and down. "No," he says simply.

I start raising my knees to my chest as I jump from one leg to the other. I smile as he continues to look at me with a perplexed expression. "Come on," I coax. I tighten my muscles as I stop and flash him my teeth. "I'll let you win," I add.

"Uh…" Daryl watches me for a moment longer and then looks away. "No."

"Why?" I ask as my muscles relaxing with disappointment.

Daryl furrows his brow and waves his hand. "Man, aren't you supposed to be grounded," he says.

"A grounding during the apocalypse doesn't really work, Daryl," I say a-matter-of-factly. "What are you grounding me from; clean water and a bed?" He stays silent and I let out a chuckle. "It's not like when you were a teen, old man," I add playfully, "you can't take away _my_ IPod."

"That's a little later than my time," Daryl says as he leans back against the truck.

I lower my brow. "Walkman?"

"Never had one," Daryl says.

"But it was around your time, wasn't it?" I ask as I lean into the question but Daryl only stares back at me in silence.

He pushes himself from the truck and starts walking away. "Let's go, there's other stuff that needs to be done today—,"

"Was it the cassette or CD version?" I ask, curiosity chiseling away at me. Daryl keeps his head forward as I jog to catch up with him. "Wait," I say with a smirk. "What was your favorite band?" He turns his head over his shoulder at me. I invert my eyebrows. "Boy band?" He shakes his head and I can hear him mumbling. "Okay, okay," I say as I walk next to him. "When I say AC/DC, who do you think of first as the singer?"

"How is that going to solve anything?" he asks with his eyebrows inverted.

"It will help me place you in a decade for your teens."

"How?"

"Bon Scott was only around until 1980. If you think of Brian Johnson first, I know you were at least old enough to appreciate good music in the 80s."

Daryl shakes his head and sighs. "I liked you better when you were quiet and angry at the world. What the hell happened?" He turns his head to me. "Now you're all talkative and asking questions that don't even matter."

"Hey, man," I say raising my hands up. "You're the one who grounded me."

"Yeah," Daryl says with a nod. He rubs the back of his neck as the sun beats down on us. "I'm starting to regret it." I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off with a had gesture. "Try to shut up for a minute."

I lick my lips and nod. As we walk, I feel a burning itch to break the hush. It bubbles from my lungs up into the back of my throat until—"My teachers used to get mad at me for talking—,"

"Goddamn it, Alex," Daryl grunts with a shake of his head, but I can see a smile stretch his lips as he turns his face away from me.

"It got so bad one year that a teacher actually bought a roll of duct tape and wrote my name on it." It wasn't a lie. Mrs. Andrews even stretched it out as a warning. We all laughed about it, but there was always that sneaking suspicion she really wanted to use it. I look up at the sky. "If I'm grounded, does that mean I have to stick with you all day?"

"God, I hope not," Daryl says as we step before the door of the building.

"Good," I say with a nod.

"Good; what do you mean good?" He opens the door and waits for me to step inside. "I should be the one saying good."

"I have to look for my brother at some point. You'd probably just slow me down," I say blatantly. As my eyes adjust to the dimness of the room, Daryl reaches around me and swings the door shut.

"If you go, Rick will want you to bring someone with you. We do the buddy system out here."

I scratch my chin. "Would he let Carl come with me?"

"I doubt that."

I push my Mohawk behind my ear. "Is this your way of volunteering?" I ask, my voice rising in pitch with the question.

Daryl stares at me again. "Why would I want to do that?" he asks finally.

I shrug. "We might find you a walkman."

"I'm good—,"

"Take a stand," I say with a smile. "You were the one who grounded me; man up and take the responsibility."

"Take the responsibility for what?" We both turn to see Rick descending the stairs. I look to Daryl, but he stays silent.

"He grounded me," I say, my finger pointing at Daryl.

"What for," Rick asks trying to maintain a straight face.

Daryl shifts his footing. "Losing his cool," he says. Rick gives a nod and, slowly, his sapphires look to me. "He's alright now; won't stop talking, though." Daryl shrugs. "I think I broke him or something."

Rick flashes a smile my way. "I thought you don't do friends."

I shake my head. "I don't." I shrug as Rick's smile disappears. "He's just here."

"And now I'm gone," Daryl says patting Rick's shoulder as if he were in a tag team match and I cock my head. "He's all yours—,"

"I don't know, Daryl," Rick says with a playful shake of his head. "Sounds like Alex likes you."

Daryl narrows his eyes at me. "You want someone to help you out with your brother situation?" he asks and I nod quickly. He leans towards me and nods off to Rick. "He can help you—,"

Rick shakes his head. "I can't. I have things to do here." He shrugs. "Why don't you go with him?" he asks. "Be a good way to bond with one another—,"

"I don't need to bond with this kid," Daryl spits. "He's like a little brother already—," I smirk and he darts his eyes to me quickly, "—annoying as all hell." He shakes his head. "I have to help out Bob and Tyreese anyway—,"

"Hmm," Rick hums. "No, I don't think you do." Daryl watches Rick for a moment. "Actually, I'm pretty sure they told me they _didn't_ need any more help," Rick lies with a smug grin. He shrugs. "It looks like your schedule just opened up, Daryl." Daryl's brow lowers and then he hangs his head as Rick stays strong with his words.

I cannot help but show my amusement with a smile. "Looks like it's settled then," Rick says, his hands wiping each other off like he had just finished a job to his satisfaction. He begins to open the door and then turns his head over to us. "Make sure you're both back before dark. Tara and Rosita are brewing up a stew for tonight." Rick then nods as both Daryl and I stay silent. "See you when you get back." As the door shuts behind him, I turn my smile to Daryl.

"Man, wipe that stupid grin off your face."

* * *

**And I believe a thank you is in order for the guest reviewer of last chapter. Thank you very much! Hopefully the updates will get back to every three or four days soon.**

**Let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

We walk in an on and off again silence. Our feet crunch the grass and dead leaves below in synchronization. Daryl was better than I thought he would be at searching. His steps were light and his narrowed eyes were always looking, watching.

It had been nearly two hours by the time we entered a small town. It was further than the town from yesterday, but it looked the same; empty and haunting.

"Probably would have covered more ground if we took one of the cars," Daryl curses as we cut through one of the yards.

I shake my head. I didn't know how to drive. If something happened to him, how was I to get back? I take a deep breath. Today didn't seem any different from any other day I searched.

"What makes you think he'd still be in Georgia?" he asks. He was annoyed; I could see it even before he started talking. I step down from the curb and slow my strides as I walk on the street. "For all you know, he could be high tailing it to Mexico by now."

I look to the pathways of the houses, trying to determine if they had been used in the last few days or even weeks. Daryl lowers his crossbow and let's out a long sigh. "Shit, he could even be in Brazil."

I shake my head again. "Truitt would have stayed," I say trying to convince both him and me. I crane my neck out as I see movement in a bush. A squirrel runs out and up a tree, my neck lowering back down as I realize there is no threat. "If anything, he would have headed to the mountains," I say as an after thought.

"Why aren't you looking there than?" he grunts.

I furrow my brow as I look to a house's windows. "I'm giving the benefit of doubt." I smirk. "I know it's stupid, but a part of me believes he knows I'm looking for him." I shrug as I turn my face to Daryl. "I'd like to believe he would have looked for me if I was out here. I would have stayed put as long as possible and when I couldn't, I wouldn't go far—not if I thought someone was looking for me."

"Two years is a long time to be missing—,"

"Three," I correct, not that it mattered.

Daryl wipes the back of his neck. "What if you don't find him?"

"I'll look for him until I die." I take a deep breath. "You should know how that bond works." Daryl darts his eyes away from mine. "Did _you_ ever stop looking?"

He looks out to the houses for a long moment. "Merle wasn't a great person," he finally says. "In the beginning, there was a group of us looking. Most of them were only there to say they tried. None of them really wanted him back. I searched day in and day out for him even when they stopped. But after a while, I moved on. I thought he was dead."

"But did you ever stop looking?"

Daryl narrows his eyes and sighs. "I guess not."

I furrow my brow as I see something on a pole waving out like a flag. I quicken my pace and march to it. A smile pulls at my lips, though I'm not sure if it's because I'm happy or because I'm trying to mask my sadness. I untie the sweater from the pole and trace my finger over the stitched letters. "Truitt," I say as if reading the yellow letters like Braille, my voice is filled with such tenderness it would put a baby to sleep. I look over to Daryl as he approaches. "He's got to be around here somewhere," I say with a sudden rush of adrenaline. I stand with the sweater still in my grip. My eyes look out and see the skeleton of what would have been downtown. My lips flatten as I look to the east and see more and more houses.

If I was him, I wouldn't want to stay in a house… but then there would be possible danger in the heart of the town. I look back down at the sweater and sigh. The color's faded and parts of the black material are bleached out from the sun. I feel indifferent. He could be right under my nose, but he could also be long gone. Truitt might not even be Truitt anymore.

"Think we should call it a day?" Daryl asks as he looks down at me. I want to shake my head. I want to look back up at him and tell him that my brother could be waiting in one of the houses or in a store just down the road.

My shoulders lower. "I think he left it for me," I say as I bring my eyes to meet his.

Daryl shrugs. "Maybe," he says.

As we start our way back I roll the sweater up and drop it into my bag. "Wait," I say and we stop. "Do you have a pen?" I ask but I already know the answer. I roll my eyes. "Let me just find a pen and paper. I want to leave a note just in case he's around here."

Daryl's brow furrows, but he nods. "We should try that house," he says, his finger pointing to a large house with blue siding.

I shrug. "What difference does it make? Most people had pens and papers of some sort." I raise my eyebrows and pinch up a cheek. "It doesn't take an educated guess as to which house would hold that."

Daryl narrows his eyes at my remark and I give a smirk. As we walk up to the house, we stay away from the footpath and look through the picture window. Nothing seems to move, but Daryl isn't willing to take any chances.

"I'll go in first, Mr. No-Guns," he says as he pulls open the screen door. "Just keep your voice down and don't come in until I say so. Got it?"

I nod as I hold my knife tightly. As he closes the door behind him, I'm at a loss for what I should do. A part of me wants to look in the windows and keep an eye on where Daryl wanders—but another part wants me to go inside and check if Truitt might be in there. I look up at the sky and let out a sigh as the orange and reds of the sunset taint the world around me. Rick wanted us back before dark.

I jump as I hear a loud _thud_ and a heavy, struggled grunt. Without another thought, I race into the house. "Daryl," I call, my voice shrill and chest throbbing with my racing heart. I'm not quite ready to deal with a death in _this_ group just yet.

* * *

**Let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

"I told you not to come in here," Daryl says as he stands from the floor.

"Are you alright?" I ask, my heart still racing. We had spent the entire day out here and not a single walker had been in our range. It was due time we had an encounter.

"I just tripped over something—,"

"Why are there extension cords out?" I ask as I look down at a red cord that runs to its end and plugs into a blue one down the hall.

Daryl shakes his head and rises. "Maybe not enough outlets," he says.

"Where do they start?" I ask. He shrugs. "Where do they go?" I lift the cord and follow it like a rope trail, but as I step by to pass Daryl, he grips my upper arm.

"I told you to wait outside."

"Well, I'm done waiting," I say as I hold the cord in both my hands.

"I'm not done making sure it's safe for you," he says in a low tone.

I shake my head. "I'm not completely helpless. I have a knife and I know where to hit them," I say nodding my head down to the knife looped into my belt. He narrows his eyes at me. "I can handle a little danger, Daryl," I add as my eyes widen.

"Whatever," he says as he turns away from me. He leads the way as we follow the cord into a kitchen. The drawers and cabinets are wide open and broken glass sits on the floor along with plastic bags and utensils; the kitchen itself looks like a tornado raced through. "Looks like someone already checked for goods," Daryl says as he pushes a drawer close. "We might find someone still kicking."

"I don't know if that's a good or bad thing," I say as I look up at him.

"We'll find out," he says. We follow the cord a little longer and stop as it leads out a window and into a garage. "Solar panels," Daryl says as he points to the roof of the garage. "Whoever it was needed power."

"Maybe they were listening to the radio," I say. I remember back in Alberta, the group I was with would all gather around to listen to the prerecorded words of a man announcing the 'safe' cities left in the country. Eventually, the recording played like scratched CD and people ignored the words.

We turn around and creep our way back into the foyer. Daryl makes his way in front of me and, again, we follow the cord. The outline of picture frames sit where nails still penetrate the walls. I furrow my brow and lower my eyes as we leave the corridor and enter the living room. I hated when the pictures were gone. At least with photographs I could pretend everything was normal—no matter how bad things really were. With them gone, it left no room for my imagination to wander. There was no denying it now; people left and took the last smiles cameras captured.

"A camcorder," Daryl says as we both see the device sitting in the corner of the room. A paper folded in half stands with the words _play me_ written in large black letters on the front.

I lower myself to the floor and knee walk the few feet between. "Should we watch it?" I ask as I lift the device and turn back to Daryl.

"Probably someone's last words," he says.

I shake my head. Not everything had to be so grim. "What if it's Truitt?" I ask.

Daryl's narrow eyes roll and he waves his hand. "Take it with you. It's going to be dark soon and we have to get going."

I nod and pick up the camcorder. As I lower it into my bag, a moan sounds outside. "What was that?" I ask, though we both know what it is. Daryl quickly brings his crossbow up, an arrow ready to shoot out at the creature upon sudden notice. We make our way back to the foyer and Daryl looks through the peephole as dragging feet sound outside.

"Do you think it heard us?" I ask quietly.

Daryl shrugs as he continues to look through. "It's only one," he says as he pulls away. "We could get past him easy enough—,"

"Or we could just use the back door," I say. Daryl furrows his brow at me. "No point in wasting an arrow," I add.

Daryl shakes his head. "No waste," he says. "Shoot it in the head and then collect. It's not a one shot wonder." I let out a small laugh. "Get your mind out of the gutter, perv," he says trying to hide his own amusement.

It had been a long time since I had smiled when a walker was near. I take a deep breath and slowly the grin leaves my lips. "What do you think would be best?" I finally ask as he steps back from the door.

"I can take it," Daryl says with a sure nod, "makes one less walker to kill in the long run."

"Fine," I say with a short nod. I hated killing them. That was the difference between here and up north. These people had evolved in the centre of the crisis. I had watched from afar—my people telling me the sick only needed help. These people—Daryl's people—had only known the sick for attacks and deaths. The sick were not human to them; they were monsters.

Before he opens the door, I look down and see a red marker on the floor. I pick it up and before I rise, I rip a piece of cardboard and bring it with me. "Are you ready?" Daryl asks.

I shrug. "I thought you wanted to make it safe for me," I say as I snap the lid off the marker and begin to pen my message.

"You said you could handle danger—,"

"Only when it's needed," I correct in a monotonous way.

Daryl lets out a snort. I hear him open the door and then push the screen door open slowly. It squeaks and the walker's neck snaps as it turns towards him. As I finish my note, I look out the door to see the grand event. With Daryl's trigger finger, he pulls back and the chain reaction begins. The arrow flies through the air at light speed only to be stopped by the walker's grey face. Daryl approaches the immobile corpse and bends at the waist. I shiver as his foot props itself on the head and he pulls the arrow out of the walker's skull.

"The area is safe," he says with an exaggerated bow and I roll my eyes. As I walk out and onto the grass, Daryl shrugs. "What did you write to him?" he asks.

I fold the paper up and shake my head. "Just told him I was here and to keep moving." I hold the cardboard tightly in my hand. "I said it's safer north but if he wanted to head there he should wait until I find him." Daryl's brow furrows. "Certain areas are more concentrated with walkers than others—,"

"And you know the best route?" he asks patronizing.

I nod with a raised brow and say, "For the most part." I shake my head. "I mean—there's no guarantee," I add, "but I did come from there." I furrow my own brow. "I think that should give me a little credibility, don't you think?"

"If you say so," Daryl says. As we begin to walk towards the pole, Daryl looks down at me. "What else did you say to him?" he asks.

"Nothing," I answer with a shrug. He nods and we continue back in silence. As we approach the pole, I pick up a large stone and pin it onto of the folded cardboard. With any luck, if Truitt didn't see it, someone else would and know to head north. I straighten from the ground and dust my legs off.

"Shit—," I turn as Daryl pulls my shoulder. "Looks like our buddy brought some company with him," he says as we both see a horde of walkers making way towards us.

I fumble as I try to reach for my knife and just as I pull it free, Daryl pulls my arm as he starts to take off and I drop it. When I attempt to retrieve it, he shakes his head. "Leave it," he hollers.

"Where do we go?" I ask as he pulls me.

"You tell me—you're the one who's well traveled," he barks back. As we get to a four-way stop, a new horde stands just out of our sites until we stand near twenty feet away. "Shit," Daryl repeats and pivots into a new direction with me.

"High ground," I call out. I look down the road and see a small shack. "High ground," I repeat as I point to the structure.

Daryl nods and leads our way. As we reach the shack, I wriggle free from his grip. "What are you doing?" he calls as I move further out of his reach.

"Climb up," I say, my finger pointing again. "I'll be back," I add as I turn away.

"Like hell you will," he says as I feel a hand grip at the neck of my shirt.

I squirm and twist but he pulls me back to the shack. "I can lead them away—,"

"And kill yourself in the making," he argues as he pushes me into the wall. Daryl bends and wraps his arms around my knees as I smack him to let me down.

"I've done it before—it will only take a minute—,"

"Get up there now!" he barks and I pull myself up onto the tin roof. I quickly brace my legs on the roof and lean over the edge to grab his hand. It takes all my strength to bring him up as a walker pulls him back down in a morbid tug of war. As I pull Daryl onto the tin roof, I nearly collapse with the effort. Had it taken a moment longer, the walker would have taken a nice chunk out of his leg.

As Daryl rolls on the roof breathlessly, I cannot help but take notice of the attention our hollering brought. I sit up and shake my head as the walkers surround our small shack. After a moment, Daryl sits up, his crossbow sitting across his lap.

"What do you suggest now?" he asks in a haughty voice as the walkers reach up towards us. Their hungry eyes stare us down and cold dead hands slam on the walls of our island. I swallow hard and press my lips together. We are _not_ going to make it back before dark—and—perhaps—not at all.

I stand on the roof and shake my head. "You should have let me go," I nearly whisper.

"Get your ass down," he curses.

"It's not like they don't see us already—,"

"No, but it'd keep others from coming." Daryl stretches his one leg out and grips the ankle that the walker had been pulling. "Nearly got myself killed because of you," he grunts.

"If you had gone up and let me go, we wouldn't be in this predicament," I say with my eyes narrowing.

"No," he agrees, but for the wrong reasons. "No, you would be miles away leaving me to bake on the tin roof with walker flames below—right?"

I shake my head and sit down. "I was going to lead them away," I say quietly. "I'm not a jerk. I have some morals left," I add.

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" he grunts with a humored scoff. "Living on a prayer, that's what gets people killed." Daryl kicks his foot out to join the other and sighs loudly. "I ain't a fool. I just met you and you're saying I should trust you—,"

"I told you; I'm not like that," I spit.

"Whether you are or not, I'm not about to bet my life on it," he says.

I look out at the setting sun and take a deep breath. With it lowering, at least we could take solace in not baking to death. I bite my lip and lower my eyes back down at the walkers. "You're going to have to trust me," I finally say. Daryl remains quiet and all that can be heard are the moans and groans of the walkers below. I lower my bag and push it towards him as he cocks an eyebrow at me. "Collateral," I say with my eyes on the bag.

"That camcorder's disc could have on it the last images of Truitt I'll ever see. I'm leaving it with you," I explain as I rise. "It's to show you that I _will_ be back. I'm not leaving you to die—because I'm sure as hell not leaving that camcorder." I step towards the edge as he furrows his brow. "You just need to trust me," I say. As I bend for my jump, I hear Daryl scramble up to stop me, but before his hands can reach out, I'm in the air and flying towards the pit of walkers.

* * *

**Let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve **

I push through the walkers and hear Daryl hollering from above, but I can't take the chance to look back at him and listen. Teeth flash from all directions and hands grab from above and below; it takes all my focus to dip, duck, and dodge. I would be lying if I were to say this was the first time I ever regretted doing something. I would also be lying if I said I thought I would get out of this alive.

Just when I think I am about to break free from the horde, I realize it is only a pocket of empty space I've been charging towards. It quickly fills in as I race through. I cannot help but think this is what it must have felt like to be in a mosh pit. Though, Truitt never said anything about others trying to bite and there was a distinct lack of music in this pit.

A hand pulls at my Mohawk's length and my head whips back. I let out a holler as a new walker lunges in for my jugular. Before the teeth can bite into my flesh, my leg springs up and kicks it full in the chest making the walker collapse and knock into a few behind.

My hands reach up and pull at the rotten flesh above. The skin peals off like an old tomato's as I try to pry the fingers off my hair. I feel a new hand grab at my leg as a mouth gnaws on my shoe. I close my eyes and wriggle my legs, but the grip on my foot only gets tighter. I reach for my belt loop and feel my heart drop. My knife was left behind.

Rather than yielding and accepting my death, something explodes in me—a supernova of strength never before seen in myself as I jerk my face forward making the hand lose grip. I trip as I attempt to pull my leg free and, like lightning, a walker is on my back climbing on top of me. Before I can think, I have pushed myself from the asphalt. I storm through the horde, my foot finally free. Now, it is time for what I do best.

I keep my chin parallel with the ground and relax my shoulders as my feet work out a proper pace—suitable for both my stamina and the walkers' speed. When I am at a distance I feel safe with, I look back and see only a handful following while the rest still surround the roof eyeballing Daryl. To my morbid pleasure, Daryl seems to be watching with the same surprise I feel.

As I approach a driveway, I pick up a handful of rocks and start tossing them at windows. Rick had said they're attracted to noise. As the glass shatters on of the houses, a few turn their heads and start heading my way.

"Come on you ugly bastards!" I belt out with enough volume to shatter a baby's eardrums. "Hurry the hell up!" I call as more start turning their attention to me. "You want a nice meal? Come on, baby! This is lean meat here! Prime and fresh; ready for the taking! All yours if you're willing to go the distance!" I say as I stumble on a curb.

I turn back and start jogging. I'm out of the fire and back in the frying pan. Their moans and groans rise in volume at the sudden ease their new meal has given them. I take a shaky breath and try to forget about my nerves and just how close certain death really is.

_This_ was second nature to me now; running with walkers at my back. Kevin and I had done it many times together. Often we would separate when the other got tired and lead the walkers away from the other. It was out way of survival. I head west and chase the sun down the road. Sometimes, we would pretend it was a game—like the walkers were lost animals trying to find their way back home. We even called ourselves shepherds.

"Ring around the rosy, a pocketful of posies. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!" I sing as loud as I can. The walkers hungrily chase me; none seem to have strayed since the start of the chase. The sun was tucking into its horizon bed and the darkness of night was creeping in far too quickly for my liking.

"Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb," I begin. My legs were aching, but my mind was trying to push past it—the nursery rhymes were helping to a degree. "Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow," I sing. Kevin would have been right by my side if he was here. Well… if there were fewer walkers, he would have been. He didn't have the courage to lead large packs. I did—that's why I was still here.

As I make way to what looks to be the edge of town, I know I have covered more than enough distance to lose them. Now, it was time for my sprint—there was no space for error either. I make a hard left towards the east and run as fast as I can, my joints aching with the impact of each step. I hear a few of the walkers quicken their pace, but it is not enough to keep up with me.

I turn down an odd street and then cut through a random yard. Even fewer follow now. At this point in the chase, Kevin would have already lost the majority. He was a fast runner—and he could recover quickly. My lungs feel like fire as my breath races. I can only hold this pace for so long. I make a dash out into a new street and cut through a new yard. I jump over a chain linked fence and then jump up and climb on top of a playhouse in the neighboring yard.

I lay flat on the roof, my heart hammering against my chest as I mimic Daryl on the tin roof—however far away that was. Sweat drenches my shirt and soaks my hair. All I want in this world right now is a cup of cold water. My cheek rests on the shingles and I close my eyes. It would be another twenty minutes before I could head back to the shack—wherever it was.

I roll onto my back and take in the cooling evening air. In another time, this playhouse was a child's favorite place. A little girl probably brought her dolls in it and played house. She probably even swept the inside and kept it as tidy as a child could. I smirk. She probably had brothers who looted the house every other day. When they were finished stealing their sister's baby doll and whatever else their sticky little fingers could grab, they probably tossed the doll onto the roof—because that's what brothers do.

A moan sounds and my breath stops in the middle of my throat. Footsteps walk around the playhouse and then eventually fade out as the walker leaves not knowing any better. No matter how hard one could try, one could never distance themselves too far from this reality. Not even Kevin could.

Daryl must have thought I was dead when the walkers surrounded me—or maybe bitten after he saw me escape. He would probably wait out an hour or two before he decided I was a goner. With the kind of man he was, he'd stay and hope for the best—but he wasn't about to risk his life on hope. It seemed in this world I was the only one willing to do that.

I roll back onto my stomach and look out to the grounds. The walkers were scattering. If I was quiet enough, I could manage to get past them before they took notice. I wince as the muscle in my calf spasms. If I was to get back to Daryl, it was going to have to wait until the coast was clear, unless I wanted to become walker fodder due to a muscle cramp.

* * *

**Let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

"I'm sorry, Lexa," Kevin says for the umpteenth time as I pull him into the closet. In the entire school, the only safe zone left was the three by five janitorial closet on the main floor. "I'm sorry," he says again as I lower him onto the floor. I pull the door shut and wedge a mop under the door's handle to keep it locked.

I lower my eyes and, for the first time since finding Kevin again, I look at him—really look at him. For the last week I had been fantasizing about the terrible things I would do to him if we ran into each other again. Some of my ideas were worse than others, but with him seated on the ground and blood dripping from his shoulder, I seemed to have forgotten the wrong he did to me.

I rip off my jacket and start wrapping the material around his shoulder. The walker had bitten Kevin before I could get him free from the pack. "I'm sorry," he repeats as if I didn't hear him the times before.

I shake my head and wince with him as I knot the sleeves tight. "Don't be sorry," I finally say; my voice low and scratchy. I had honestly no idea what else to say to him. My eyes lower to the floor as I rest against the wall. "You'll be okay," I add—but we both know it is a lie.

"No," Kevin says with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry I pushed you to them," he says.

I pause for a second and cock my head at him. My eyes lower again with a shrug. "What's done is done. We can't dwell on the past," I finally say. A day ago, I would have been angry, but right this second, I felt sorry for him. Pity kept me from revenge.

There's silence between us aside from the moans running up and down the corridor behind the door. Kevin sniffles and I push my head against the wall, my knees rising to my chest. "I can't turn into one of those things," he says in a breathless whisper. My eyes rise to him; sweat beads on his forehead and trickles down his neck. The fever was already taking over—he was turning faster than I had realized. "Please," Kevin begs, "please, Lexa, don't let me become one of them."

"I won't, I promise," I almost whisper. No one wanted to become one—and it seemed universal not to allow it to happen. It was inhumane. Kevin's red matted curls stick to his forehead as he wipes the sweat away. "I'll stay," I add.

"You won't leave me?" he asks, his blue eyes filmed over with tears. I shake my head.

I watch as he shifts himself and cradles his arm. "Here," I say as I lower my legs back down and pat my lap. "Put your head here." Kevin furrows his brow. I give a gentle smile. "Take it as a promise I won't go." He shifts himself again and lowers his head to my lap.

Kevin lets out a groan as his arm radiate with pain—or was it the fever causing his distress? I bring my hand up and lower it on his head, my fingers playing with his outgrown hair. Pain was inevitable in these lands—but to suffer like this; it was unnecessary.

In my heart, I know I should comfort him more—perhaps I should tell him the story about when we first met, or when we found that box of chocolate bars—but my brain tells me I should be cautious and keep focused on the here and now. Any moment Kevin could take his last breath and then rise up from the seemingly dead like so many before him. I take a deep breath and sigh. At some point, I would have to take out my screwdriver and jab it into his brain.

"Will you still go to Atlanta?" Kevin asks; his is breathing heavy and voice hoarse.

I nod and say, "Of course."

He turns his head and looks up at me as I remove my hand from his hair. Kevin watches me for a moment; his blue orbs making me feel like spiders crawl beneath my skin. I look away. "I hope you find your brother, Lexa." I shake my head. He should be worried about himself—not some stupid search party. "No," he says as if reading my thoughts. "Really—," his head drops back to my lap, "—it would be nice to have something good happen. It's been so long…" I can feel his head rocking side to side. "Too long," he adds.

Those were the last words I heard him say. When I looked down at him next he was gone. Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to allow them to fall. He was a friend—he deserved those tears—but I was not willing to bleed them out for him. Not now and not ever. Crying didn't fix anything.

I sat there a long time; his head resting above my knee and body lying lifelessly across the small space. It wasn't that I couldn't do _it_—I knew I could—it was if I _did_ do it, it meant it was permanent; he was gone and this was real.

I reach the handle of my screwdriver and take it out from my pant's belt loops. I _promised_ him he wouldn't turn. I look at the screwdriver for a moment; even in the darkness of the closet, the steal shines. I take a deep breath and look down at Kevin's body. If there ever was a truly sombre moment in my life, now was that time.

I take the screwdriver and raise it up high. Penetrating the skull would be the toughest part of this entire experience. As I bring my weapon down, I hear a moan and stop, my breath hitching as I drop the screwdriver to the floor. Was he alive? Were these Kevin's last moments alive—not his first as one of _them_?

* * *

As I drop down from the playhouse, my legs threaten to give out. It was dark and, with the darkness the ghost town casted, the stars were brighter than ever. I survey my surroundings and then slowly and rigidly begin my way back to the shack.

It was best to keep away from streets—walkers seemed to build up on the asphalt; something about the open space called out to them. I stay close to the houses; my eyes wide open waiting for any jerk motions, my ears listening for any soughs of walkers.

It takes longer to reach the tin roof due to the evasion of roads, but it was better to be safe than sorry when it came to potential walkers following. When I jump up for the roof, my hands slam against the tin causing a sound like thunder crashing scaring not only myself, but Daryl in the process.

"Jesus Christ," I hear him curse in a stifled holler. He leans over the edge and looks down at me hanging on the roof. "You could have warned me," he adds as his hand reached out and pulls me up by my forearm.

"And miss that?" I say with a cheeky grin.

"And risk walkers hearing?" he says in a mocking tone. I roll my eyes and sit on the roof, the tin bending and moaning with each movement.

I push back my Mohawk and sigh. "I think it's safe enough for us to head back," I say as he lowers himself back down.

Daryl's eyes narrow; something is off and I'm not sure what it could be. "Who's Lexa?" he asks as he holds out my bag, the camcorder sitting next to him.

I feel my blood run cold. "I don't know." I swallow hard. I watch him for a moment not sure how I should react. "You watched the video?" He keeps his eyes fixed on me, no sign of an answer. "That was mine," I say calmly.

Daryl raises his brow and looks away. "That kid in the video talks about a girl named Lexa. I was just wondering who she was. I thought you might know because he's your brother—,"

"It _was_ Truitt?" I ask, my body jerking forward into a lean.

Daryl's deep blue eyes look back to mine. "Yeah…" I lower my chin and look down at my lap. "He said he had two sisters…" he says as he shakes his head, "but nothing about a brother."

I feel my jaw clench. The last time my secret got out… things didn't end too well for either party. I raise my chin and furrow my brow. "What are you going to do?" I challenge. If there was anything I learned from all of this, it was to face your demons head on. Daryl's nose curls up. I shake my head and let out a disdainful laugh. "Rough me up? Teach me what a man can do?" I give a smug grin. "Try it. You wouldn't be the first." My lips flatten and, despite my fear, my jaw clenches again as I raise my chin haughtily. "I dare you."

"It's not me who's going to do anything. It's you." Daryl leans forward quickly and I jostle back. My eyes shut tightly and I hold my breath not wishing to go through this again. "Stand up," I hear him say. Like a small child, one of my eyes opens as if to make sure it is safe and then the other follows. I take a deep breath and rise. Daryl drops down from the roof and then looks up at me as I watch him with bewilderment. "Grab the camcorder," he says with a touch of annoyance. Still unsure, I do as I am told. God only knew what was going to happen next. Daryl holds his hands out to me and nods as if to signal for me to come to him. "When we get back—," he lets out a grunt as he takes my weight, "—you're going to have to come clean," he says as he lowers me to the ground.

"What do you mean?" I hear myself ask as I stare back up at him with wide eyes.

His brow furrows again. "Rick—Carol—Carl—everyone; they deserve to know." He turns away from me and begins to walk off into the darkness. "Rick's the last person you want to lie to," Daryl says as I slowly follow.

I lower my eyes to his heals. "I—,"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Daryl says, his head turning part way to me. His shoulders lower and he takes in a deep breath. "I don't care what you think of me," he finally says as he stops in his tracks. "I would never do that…" Daryl shakes his head with his eyebrows raised. "Not to anyone."

My lips part as I exhale. I feel like I've been punched in the gut; I can't seem to catch my breath. Shame rises and reddens me from my chest to my ears. "I—,"

His hand rises as if to silence my words like a king. "I don't care." Daryl turns back around and continues walking. "We need to get back."

* * *

**To the Guest User who commented last chapter, I will try to have more Carl. I was actually wanting to put some of him in this one, but the length would be far too long. Hopefully next chapter he will be there.**

**Let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Rick," Daryl says as he squeezes past the group in the yard. A welcome party had seemingly been organised for our arrival—or was it a search part? "There's something I need to talk to you about," I hear him murmur before the two disappear behind everyone. Once Daryl is out of sight, it seems like the show is over and everyone slowly dwindles away. Daryl was the real star where I was only an extra—or a nuisance.

"You okay?" Carl asks as I lower my head and relax my shoulders. I give him a sideways glance and then nod after a breath. "What took so long to get back?" he asks as he follows me into the storage house. In truth, I didn't want him with me—I didn't want anyone with me.

"Walkers," I say hoping he'll leave me like the rest as I start up the stairs. To my discouragement, he still follows.

There's silence as we enter the hallway until we reach Rick's door. There are voices, quiet at first and then they rise—but they're too muffled to understand what is being discussed. "Sounds like my dad's not happy," Carl says making me rip my stare off the door and turn to him.

I swallow hard. "Yeah…" I say with a curt short nod.

"You should probably go back down to get something to eat. Tara put some aside for you and Daryl."

I shake my head. "I don't feel like eating." Carl's head bobs up and down with his furrowed brow.

"What do you feel like doing?" he asks.

_Curling up into a ball and dying_. My hand rises and scratches the back of my neck. I flatten my lips and shake my head. "I was going to wait for Daryl to be done with your dad… I need to talk to Rick—,"

"You're not bitten—are you?" Carl interjects and I quickly recoil at his words like they have attempted to spear me.

"No," I say with a roll of my eyes and an annoyed slacked jaw. Carl's eyes narrow. I sigh. "I just… need to talk to him."

"Was it about the search?" he asks as he leans against the opposite wall. I look to the floor and nod. "Is it why Daryl needed to talk to him so bad?" I nod again, my eyes quickly rising to his and then back down. Carl's nose wrinkles and then, suddenly, his eyes widen with excitement. "Did you guys find survivors?" I furrow my brow and shake my head. "Are you going to tell me?"

"Just let me talk to your dad first." I bite my lip as he makes a face. "I'll let you know about it after, okay?" Carl nods his head and looks away; hurt keeping him from speaking. I take a deep breath and sigh loudly. "Listen, Carl," I say. I press my lips together as I think about my words and then, finally, I nod. "You're the closest thing I have to a friend right now. If I _could_ tell you first, chances are I would—but I can't." I narrow my eyes and invert my brow. "Still bunk buds?" I ask bringing my hand out for a high-five.

Carl studies my hand for a moment and then he nods, his hand gripping mine in a bro-like chest-almost-bump. "Yeah, we're good." I nod with a smirk and watch him for a second.

We both look to the door as a loud voice and then footsteps sound towards the closed door. "You should probably go somewhere else… your dad might be mad—,"

"What?" he crows and I widen my eyes as if to signal haste and he nods. As Carl starts walking back down the corridor, he says, "You better tell me when you're out!" I nod and take a shaky breath as he disappears down the steps.

Not a moment later, the door opens and Rick stands with Daryl over his shoulder. Rick's intense eyes stare me down for a hot minute making me feel only two feet tall. I open my mouth to speak but, with a wave of his hand, I fall silent.

"Not out here," he says in a gruff voice—hoarse from anger? He moves aside and, like a well trained dog, Daryl mirrors his movement. I take two slow step inside before the door slams shut behind me. "Not even twenty-four hours and you've been in here twice now, Alex," he says with his head hunched over his body as he walks towards his desk. "That's a record," he says almost amused. "Under different circumstances, I would say this might not be working out."

I furrow my brow at him as Daryl sits on the desk, his ankles crossed and arms propping him. "Under different circumstances?" the whisper escapes me. My voice is all but there.

Rick takes a deep breath, his eyes close and hand rises to his forehead. The wrinkles across his face are the wear and tear of this day and age. No man—or woman, for that matter—could hide what they had gone through now. There are no surgeons, no pharmaceuticals—nothing that could prevent the hands of time.

"If what Daryl told me is true, you've broke some trust," he says with a nod. Daryl only stares, his mouth tightly shut but eyes gentle as if pity kept them from burning holes into my skin. Rick takes another audible breath—an impatient look on his face. "Care to explain yourself?"

I take a deep breath and quietly make my way towards the desk. My eyes look to the floor as if in the grey-green carpet my words would be found written in it. "Is there anyway to gain back this trust?" I hear myself asking in a meek voice.

Rick's brow furrows. "I asked you to explain yourself, Alex. I really don't think it's your turn to be asking questions," he says firmly. "You lied," he adds.

I shake my head quickly. "I never lied," I nearly whisper. Rick opens his mouth to cut me off, but I do not allow it. "Lie by omission; yes, you caught me—but you made the assumption. You never even asked—you just thought because I have a boyish figure I must be a boy." I narrow my eyes at him; anger was not boiling my blood—but justification. "I never said I was a boy to any of you. Fuck—for all you know—I could be transgender—you don't know!"

Daryl makes a face; his eyebrows furrowed and chin shooting back as if he doesn't understand. Rick's reaction is near the same; a furrowed brow though the confusion isn't there. "Are you?" he finally asks. I shake my head. "You had many times to come clean—,"

"When?" the bark spews from my mouth shocking me with its volume.

"The tampons; that was a perfect time," he says with a gentle nod down of his head. "You could have told me then—you could have told Carol when she gave you that shirt last night—hell, you could have told Eugene for all I care."

"What does it matter?" I ask, my arms folding into each other across my chest not willing to question who this Eugene was—and not really caring. "What difference does it make if I'm male or female?" There is silence for a moment. I shake my head. "I didn't know what kind of people you were—and, frankly, I still don't." I feel my throat grow sore and eyes sting with tears I wish not to fall. "I don't tell people. That's _my_ defence mechanism. I don't have strength—I don't have a tough, badass image—all I have are tensor bandages and a Mohawk. I have been in different groups and ran into a lot of people; I've told you this. People thinking I'm a guy helps me… even if it's only for a night. Sometimes, that's all I need."

Finally, Daryl breaks his stare from me and looks at Rick for a moment. "She has a point," he murmurs. "There are a lot of messed up people out there… we've seen only a handful. If she's come as far as Carol said she had; just think of the shit that's happened. I can understand why cross-dressing would be safer… especially for a little girl." Rick's eyes lower. "A little girl," Daryl repeats. "Think about it; if that was Judith, wouldn't you be thankful she's still alive and found a way to be as safe as possible?" Daryl shrugs. "If that was my kid, I wouldn't be putting down the idea, I'd be enforcing it."

For a brief moment, I almost feel the warmth of pride settle in. When Daryl's harsh eyes look back to me, however, the feeling is gone. I'm still in the wrong, no matter how understanding he may be.

Rick rises from his chair and paces for a moment. When he stops, his eyes are on the wall behind me. "What do you want to do?"

I furrow my brow. "What do you mean?"

"Tell everyone or keep your mouth shut, punk," Daryl spits as if it is needed to counteract the kindness he bestowed upon me a minute before. The blow seems to hit me hard, my chest almost imploding at the sudden insult.

"Would one be better than the other?"

Rick's eyes finally fall back onto me. "Either one is good. However, if you chose to keep it a secret, I'll be letting Carol know and you'll be moving into her room with Judith." I nod. "If you let the others know, you'll still be moving in with Carol, there's no two ways about that one."

"But Carl has a bunk bed—,"

"And you are a girl and he is a boy—more specifically, you're around the same age which means certain things are now activated that weren't active six years ago." Rick shakes his head. "I think you can put two and two together."

I furrow my brow. What does he mean? I shake my head but I'm too afraid to voice my answer. Daryl lets out a snort and turns his head away. "I…" I look from Rick to Daryl and back again, "… I don't… get it."

Daryl's face brightens with a huge smile as Rick's eyes shoot away with a turn and lowering of his head. "Do you want me to get Carol?" Daryl asks as he tries to keep from laughing.

Rick holds his hand up for a second and turns to me. "Do you really not know what I'm talking about?"

"If you're afraid of the two of us kissing, I can tell you right now that's never going to happen." I jump as Daryl lets out another snort and buries his face into his hands as he tries to muffle his laughter.

"I'll go get Carol," Daryl says between giggles as he rises from the desk.

As he leaves the room, his laughter can be heard as he travels down the hall. I look up at Rick and screw my face up as the corners of his lips fight to stay in a straight line. "Should I be laughing?" I ask as I lean forward slightly.

Rick turns away from me and takes a struggled breath. As he makes his way around the desk, his eyes look back at mine. "When Carol comes in, we'll be waiting outside. There are certain things you need to know when you get older… for your protection and other's." I furrow my brow and turn my head sharply as the door opens.

"Why am I the go-to person for this?," Carol asks as she enters the room.

"You're the mother figure around here," Daryl says with a smirk.

"Well, I didn't sign up for that."

"For what?" I ask. "What's going on?" I add with an unsure smirk on my lips as she makes her way towards me.

"Alright," Rick pipes up with a clasp of his hand. "On that note, Daryl, come on. We need to—,"

"I want to listen in—,"

"Awe, are you unsure about your bits and pieces as well?" Carol asks with a baby doll grin as she looks over her shoulder at him.

Daryl's smile is suddenly gone. "Observation only; I know how that stuff works—,"

"How what works—,"

"Daryl," Carol says as she makes her way back to him before lowering her voice to a whisper; "You know how awkward this conversation was when you were a boy—just think what it's like for a girl." Her brow raises as her lips barely move with the words, "Talking about virginity and… things might not go up, but they definitely do something. To have a member of the opposite sex… maybe it would be best if it was only us girls in here. You know how this conversation sounds."

"Never had it," he says with a playful grin. "Went on a touch and feel basis when it was my time."

"Well, this isn't something you're going to want to listen to. I don't even want to talk about it—but" she shakes her head and looks back at me, "… it's a conversation that needs to be had—and I'm not having you listen in; now, go—go on, get out!" she says as she swats his shoulder making him flinch and quickly head to the door.

As the door shuts and Carol and I are the only ones in the room, I cannot help but feel immense apprehension for what is about to come. I almost feel as though I am a five year old in trouble—well, not trouble, but about to get a lecture for something they didn't know they did wrong. I am completely unaware of what is about to happen.

* * *

Carol sits beside me on the chair before Rick's desk; she's hunched over and a hand rests on my knee as she shakes her head. "No," she says, "no, sweetie, that's not how it should be." Her eyes are switched from the playful ones that swatted Daryl away back to the sad grey orbs. "It's supposed to be consensual." I make a face. "Both people need to agree on it." I nod slowly.

"So… that wasn't sex then?"

"No, that was a crime. It should never hurt… and you—," she taps my knee, "—should be enjoying yourself—not crying." She bites her lip. "It wasn't your fault, you understand that, right?" I pause for a moment and then give a curt nod. "I mean that. When a man forces himself on you—," she sighs, "—you can't blame yourself. Something's wrong with him; he's the broken one not you."

Carol takes a deep breath and leans back. "Have you already started…" she narrows her eyes, "… the thing we talked about."

I nod my head. "Yeah," I say. "I got it a couple weeks after I left Dawson City." I feel embarrassment wash over me as I remember that terrible day. I was all alone and, suddenly, crimson stained my pant leg. I cried for hours thinking I was going to die. It was only by fluke I went into a pharmacy and found a box of pads with the instructions open on the floor. A happy coincidence that it was exactly what I needed. Had it not been for that, I would probably still not understand what was making me bleed.

"Have they been coming regularly?" she asks.

My lips part as I screw my face up at her. "I'm supposed to be keeping track?"

Carol's brow inverts and she smirks sweetly. "You should be." She then asks, "When was the last one?"

My eyes wander the room as my memory gets jogged. I scratch my head and shrug. "Two weeks ago… maybe three."

"Alright, so," she says with a smile, "the cool thing about keeping track of them is you can estimate when the next one is coming. Chances are in the next week or two you'll be getting it." It was a great and terrible gift she gave me at that moment. To know I am free for only so long was liberating—yet so limiting. It truly was a curse; a disgusting one at that. "Every twenty-eight days, give or take, you'll be getting it for the next thirty years—unless you're pregnant, though there are exceptions. We know how that one works, now, right?" I nod stiffly. Correction; all bodily functions in the southern regions, as a whole, were disgusting.

I lower my eyes to the carpet and raise my brow. "Can I go now?"

Carol bites her lip and winces. "I'm sorry," she says. "I've never really told anyone about this stuff. I don't know how to talk about it." She rises. "If you have any questions, I'm always somewhere around here." I nod and rise as she makes her way to the door.

Before she stands before the door, I nudge her arm making her look down at me. "Is that why Carl and I can't share a room?" Carol nods and I make a face of disgust. "I would _never_ do… not on purpose—,"

"You're still young. Later—,"

"Nope," I quickly say before leaving her behind in the dust.

* * *

**Quest reviewer of last chapter, I'm going to take a wild guess and say you're a bit of a fan of Carl? lol Nice to see you're still reading, I hope you keep enjoying.**

**My apologies for my lack of updating. Lately, I've been pretty sick, however, I am feeling much better. I will be returning to normal Friday updates from here on out. Thank you very much to all those who patiently waited.**

**Let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

"Time to get up," I hear her say as my blanket is pulled from my limp body. One eye opens as if to test the water and then the other after which both shut tightly in dismay as I see the sky is still dark outside the window. "Come on, we need to get moving," Carol says as she twists away when I attempt to grab at the blanket she stole.

"Five more minutes," I moan as I roll onto my side away from her. It had been nearly two weeks of sharing her room; if it wasn't Judith crying for attention, it was Carol waking me or sending me to bed.

"I already gave you five minutes. Come on, breakfast should be ready." I hear her steps sound as she walks away. "After you eat, Daryl said he would help you look for your brother."

I feel my heart sink. In Truitt's video, he said he would be hiding out on top of the town's city hall roof. We had checked day in and day out, but there was no trace of him ever getting that far. Daryl had tried to tell me my brother might have had to change plans, but that wasn't like Truitt. If he had to, why wouldn't he go back to his camera or even leave a note there?

"Rick was talking about giving you guys a car today," she says as I roll onto my back and stare up at the water stained ceiling. "Yesterday, you two came back way too late. Had us all worried," she murmurs. I roll my eyes and shake my head. She _was_ like a mother; everything from how she looked at you to how she spoke screamed motherly.

Carol's eyes catch the roll of mine and she sighs. "You can't stay out that late—,"

"Who said it was my idea?" I ask as I sit up. Sleep was no longer an option; not in this room with Mamma Carol.

Carol gives me a long blink as Judith's hands pull and touch her neck and ears. "Since the moment you and him started heading out together, you've had him wrapped around your little finger."

I smirk and shake my head. "No, whenever we're out if I ask to stay longer, he always says we have to get back before dark no matter what—,"

"But somehow you two always manage to avoid curfew," Carol says with her eyebrow raised. "Him wrapped around your finger; no," she says sarcastically. "You've got that man bending over backwards for you and you can't even see it." Carol lets out a titter. "You watch; today he'll want to only go so far, but if you push him, he'll yield with you thinking it was his idea the whole time."

I shake my head again. It was ludicrous; Daryl didn't do anything he didn't _want_ to do. It always had to be his idea too, there were no exceptions.

Carol grabs a sweater for Judith and holds it in her free hand as she readjusts the toddler on her hip. "You watch; ask him for his eggs. He'll give you them. I _know_ he will." She smirks again as she turns towards the door. "Daryl's easy like that. He's got a weak spot he doesn't like people to know of."

I stand from the bed and pick my blanket off the floor. As I wrap it around my body, I nod. "Fine, but if he doesn't, I want your feather pillow for the night—,"

"And what do I get if he does?"

My eyes look to Judith for a moment and then back at Carol. "I'll look after Judith tonight—,"

"Deal; I could use a night off," she says with a sure nod as she opens the door.

As we go down the hall, I trip on the flap of my blanket and Carol shakes her head. She has learnt over the course of the last week that I enjoy warmth and comfort far more than convenience and conventionality. I flap one hand free from the cocoon and pull up the front of the blanket like a long gown as we make our way down the steps.

It was almost tradition; every second day, breakfast was made. Due to rationing, it was not possible to have three meals a day—but two was sufficient, even if it was only bread and squirrel at both meals. Carbs and protein was what made the body run. The main floor had been transformed into a sort of meeting grounds. Found boards and cinderblocks made up the tables we sat at while makeshift log stools were what we sat on unless one was lucky enough to have had an office chair in their room.

As I plop myself down at the end of the far table, I watch as Carol smiles and greets Rick as he kisses Judith on the forehead. Not long after, Maggie—Glenn's wife—has taken Judith and is sitting at a table with Tyreese and Tara as she feeds Judith some eggs from her plate. The way Judith was passed around throughout the days almost brought new meaning to, 'it takes a village to raise a child.' Here, it really did.

I bring my blanket to my chin and nuzzle into it. The fabric was thin and scratchy, but it was better than nothing—especially in the mornings. My eyes are still heavy with sleep, and I can feel them fighting to stay open after each blink. Just as my head drops down, I feel a hand give a tight squeeze on my shoulder and my eyes shoot open.

"You look like a pig in a blanket," Daryl says as he plops down beside me with a plate already picked at. He chews for a second as I stare back at him, offense making my upper lip curl. "No," he says between chews, "you know, pig in a blanket; breaded hotdogs," he says with a bit of a smirk.

"You mean a pogo?" I ask, my head rising out of the blankets turtle neck.

He furrows his brow for a second and makes a face. "Kind of," he finally says. "Anyway, I spoke to Rick and he agreed to let us use one of the cars." I nod, disinterest making my eyes wandering around the open space. "He's going to let us use the truck—better chance of getting through a hoard with that thing blazing." Daryl pauses for a second and lowers his shoulders as he watches me. "Where's your food?"

"I didn't get any yet," I say as I pull the blanket up high again.

"Why?" he asks with a shrug.

I furrow my brow. "It's Carl's turn to get the food." He nods with his brow raised. The two of us took turns doing it. It kind of brought normalcy to a place where there really was none. I look around and sigh. "He's probably helping Glenn with the generator again," I say.

"Are you hungry?"

"Starving," I answer as my belly burns with emptiness.

Daryl takes another mouthful of eggs and says, "It's good. Want to see?" Before I can turn away, he opens his mouth and shows his breakfast in all its chewed up glory. He lets out a chuckle as I shiver. He did it every breakfast morning—no matter if I had food or not—and sometimes during dinner. "Still hungry?" he asks.

I sigh and look to the table. "Yeah," I admit with a touch of shame and it only makes him chuckle again.

"Sorry," Carl slides the plastic plate in front of me and quickly sits down. "Bob wanted to show me how to do sutures—,"

"It couldn't have waited until after breakfast?" I interrupt. Mornings were never my strong suit.

Carl furrows his brow. "I'm sorry, man. He just randomly asked. It wasn't supposed to take that long, but I kept messing up the knots." He smirks as his eyes rise to Daryl and then back to mine. "We used a butter lip for the skin. The plastic kept ripping and Bob kept telling me I had a really steady hand. He said I would have made a good doctor—,"

"You could still be a doctor," I say and Carl rolls his eyes.

"I already told you, I'm not going up North. It's too cold and the people are weird." It was something I brought up almost everyday—sometimes I didn't even notice I was talking about it. With Carl, it just seemed natural to talk about family and the time before—no matter how far away it was.

I narrow my eyes at him and then quickly relax as I remember Carol's bet. It was finally time for me to pop the question. "Do you think I could have the rest of your eggs, Daryl?" I ask before I pop the last of my eggs into my mouth.

"No."

I furrow my brow and Carl lets out a nervous sort of laugh. "Why not?" I ask with a bit of a wine.

"I'm hungry—why do you think?" he retorts. "It's not my fault you ate like a pig."

"Pig in a blanket," Carl says, his fork pointing my way.

Daryl looks to him with a grin and a weak nod. "At least someone knows what I'm talking about," he murmurs. He begins to stand from his log and lift his plate.

"You don't have to leave—I won't ask again—,"

"No, but you'll be drooling over my plate." He takes a breath and looks out to the tables. "Rick," he hollers over the chatter. "You got a spot open?"

"For you, always," Rick calls back and Daryl leaves our table.

I sigh as Daryl dips down into his seat next to Rick. Daryl was lucky; he could sit anywhere and people would enjoy his company. He was accepted by everyone, though he chose to only commute with certain people. Carl and mine's table—it was always us and only us. It was sort of the designated kiddie table of the storage house. We didn't mind. Most of the time the adults would only talk about what needed to be done for the day—they never spoke about dreams or ideas unless they were going to benefit the group.

"I was thinking we should make a tree house," I say breaking the silence between us.

"A tree house?" he repeats as one of his eyebrows arches. I nod. "Where and how?"

"I don't know." I look back down at my plate and poke at the slice of bread. "There are a couple of good trees in the field. We could ask around for spare wood and nails—,"

"You mean outside of the fence?"

"Yeah, it could be like a man cave, you know?"

"My dad wouldn't allow it," Carl says flatly.

I press my lips together and shrug. "Maybe we could build it on the roof. Climb out your window and just build from there." For a second, I see Carl's eyes light up with childish excitement, but it quickly disappears.

He lowers his head. "When exactly are you planning on doing this?" I furrow my brow. "You're always out looking for your brother. I'm usually helping my dad. There's no time," he says with a shake of his head.

I feel my shoulders hunch over as the idea is shot down. I poke my bread again before I lift it. "We could _make_ time," I say quietly before taking a bite. Out of my peripherals I can see him shaking his head again.

"You can be such a kid sometimes, you know that?" he says with a smirk.

I nod my head faintly. For the rest of breakfast, I stay silent as Carl talks about how he and Tara spent yesterday on crowd control. He was fixated on one specific walker—one we've come to know as Riot. The only cause for a name for him was due to him always getting in the way of things. He was kind of like a dog.

When cars and trucks came into the fence, Riot would bang on the door and windows making a weird gorilla moan. If Carl and I had free time, we would watch Riot and laugh as he paced the fence. When Riot would get too close, we would poke him with sticks through the chain links to push him away. Out of all the walkers surrounding us, Riot was probably the least of our worries.

Half his jaw was missing—which Michonne said kept him from biting—but that didn't mean he was safe. She said that his arms would need to be removed or else he could still scratch and infect people. She said that if it came down to it, we could use him to get passed other walkers. I didn't like that thought. Like any sort of pet, Riot—as odd as it was—held a special place in both Carl and mine's heart. One day, however, we knew he would have to be taken out. We just wanted to keep pushing back that date.

"Tara almost killed him," Carl says as we place our plates into a pile.

"What?" My neck nearly snaps at the speed I turn it at when I look to him.

"Yeah," Carl says with a nod. "He got too close. She took her knife and just before she drove it into his forehead, I pushed him back with my spear. Got him a little, but he's okay. I told her we could kill any of them except him." He rolls his eyes and palms his forehead as he says, "She asked why and when I explained the family pet idea, she asked me if I was insane. "They're walkers," she said, "they hunt and feed. They're not furry little domesticated canines.""

"What did you say?"

"I told her I knew that but it was just fun to watch him. She rolled her eyes and walked away after that."

I let out a chuckle. We knew Riot wasn't a _real_ pet, but we enjoyed the entertainment. None of the other walkers seemed to walk with the same swagger or moan and grown quite the same. He was funny, and in a world of no television or videogames, this was a good as it got; world class entertainment right out our front door.

"Whatever," I say as we walk back to our spots. "At least we're not feeding them, right?"

Carl's eyes bulge as his brow rises. "I knew people who did that," he says quietly like a curse.

"Really," I say, my nose scrunching up with the word. "How could anyone do that? Walkers are walkers… they're not your friends, they don't talk or understand." I look around the busy floor. "Who was it?" I ask in a whisper as if the person we're talking about might hear.

"Two girls," he says, "sisters, actually." He leans on the table and shakes his head. "Apparently, they would go out at night and feed them. They gave them names—not like Riot—but, like, real names. They thought the walkers were still people."

"That's messed up," I say on a breath.

Carl nods and looks past me. "That's what happens when you're not prepared for this kind of life—,"

"No one was prepared for this," I say.

"I mean… mentally. Most people can handle a lot of shit before they break… but those girls; something triggered in them."

"They wanted to pretend," I say wistfully. "Probably too young to know any better."

"Maybe," Carl says with a single nod. "Maybe it's just a fault in their gender." I furrow my brow at him. "I've met a few kids. The boys always seem to understand what's what, but when it comes to girls... they just can't grasp it. I mean—," his hand rises and gestures towards me, "—look at yourself. You're a boy. You've travelled super far all on your own... do you think a girl could do that?" He smirks. "I don't—at least, not the one's I've met." I nod and take a deep breath. For a long moment, we're quiet. All that sounds at our kiddie table is the occasional knocking of Carl's fist on the board. I sigh and lower my blanket down at my waist so I can place my hands on the tabletop.

"Here," a gruff voice says as a plate slides in front of me. I furrow my brow and look up to see Daryl. "Eat quickly. We're losing daylight."

* * *

**I got a little over excited to upload, so... yeah... there will still be a chapter up on Friday though. **

**I actually can't really believe the amount of alerts and favourites I've gotten for this story. Thank you all very much!**

**Not much happening in this chapter. Sorry about that.**

**Please let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Put your seatbelt on; I'm not moving until it's on," Daryl says as his hands sit on the steering wheel. I roll my eyes and do as told. It wasn't like there would be other cars—there was no way to get in a head on collision. Car accidents were basically extinct, unless one was a dumbass.

"Thanks for the eggs," I say as I look out the window and see Carl open up the gate.

Daryl moves the shift and begins to drive. "Someone's got to look out for Carol." I feel my face brighten to a harsh red. Slowly, my eyes turn to Daryl only to see a wry grin on his lips.

I look out my window, trying to play it cool, but I know he has noticed my blush. "S-so—," I clear my throat, "—Carol told you?"

"Carol told me?" He shakes his head. "I made a bet with her." I close my eyes and furrow my brow. "She said you wouldn't have the balls to ask me, and I said you did."

"I doubt she put it so eloquently."

Daryl shrugs. "Either way, I got out of crowd control and she got a night free of Judith." He smirks. "Win; win."

"What about me?" I ask.

"You got my eggs. Win; win; win."

I shake my head and look about out the window. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you and Carol had a thing going on."

"Naw, me and Carol?" he says with a face. "We're friends. She gets me. You don't mess around with that."

"Maggie and Glenn did," I point out.

Daryl shakes his head. "They were together before they knew each other."

"Wow, a one night stand in the apocalypse. Go figure."

"Yeah, Glenn's got balls."

We drive for a little less than an hour before we arrive at the town. Over the course of our check-ins, less and less walkers were left. Daryl would shoot five or six a day, jut for good measure, but that didn't mean the area was safe. We would proceed with caution no matter how empty it looked. No loud noises, no sudden movements; it was safety over curiosity, always. When we first went into the city hall, Daryl had spent twenty minutes eyeing up the windows before he even took a step into the door. After that, it took nearly an hour to make sure the route to the roof was clear. Then and only then was I allowed to come in and follow.

As we get out of the truck, Daryl holds his crossbow at his side as he comes around to me. He narrows his eyes as the morning sun shines in his face. He watches as I holster a knife into my belt and remove my sweater. Over the last two days, I had just started to leave the storage house without my bindings. It was awkward at first. Thankfully, Daryl didn't take notice—or, at least, he didn't say anything. Yesterday, we had actually gone through a house and he tossed a bra my way. That was his subtle way of acknowledging the change.

"What do you prefer to be called?" he asks as I toss my sweater onto the seat. I furrow my brow. "Alex—Lexa—Alexa?"

I smirk. "Carol asked me that last week. I said to keep it Alex in case someone heard her talking to me through the walls."

"Which do you like better?"

I narrow my eyes and think for a moment. "I hate it when people call me Alexa." I shiver. "When my mom was mad at me she would yell it at the top of her lungs," I say with a small laugh. "Most people called me Lexa," I add with a nod.

"You didn't answer my question."

I take a breath and quietly shut the truck's passenger door. I straighten my back and shrug. "It doesn't matter to me. I'll answer to any of them." I take a quick breath as I second guess myself. "I like Alex," I say with a nod. "Makes me feel more ready for this stuff, you know?" I shake my head. "Lexa is too girly."

"Alex is more badass."

"Exactly," I say with a smile. "I know I'm not, but it doesn't mean I can't pretend, right?"

"What about Lexy?" Daryl asks with a shrug.

I shake my head quickly. "I knew a Lexy and she was a bitch."

"Hmm," Daryl hums. He takes a step back and looks up the road. "Are you ready yet?" he asks as I tighten my laces. I straighten and nod his way.

As we make our way to city hall, Daryl stops and looks down at me. "If we're just going to be sitting up there again today, I'm going back," he says simply.

I furrow my brow and lower my chin. "What if he comes today?"

"Alex," he says in a firm voice. Daryl sighs and lowers his crossbow down. "The world won't come to you. You want something done, you have to do it." He shakes his head as I look to the doors of the building. "We waste time when we sit up there—time we could have spent looking for him, or doing something else." I turn away but Daryl holds my shoulder. "You're putting all your eggs in one basket when you should be spreading them out." He takes a breath. "I know it's hard… but I think we need to move on."

"What do you mean 'move on'?" I urge as I turn towards him.

"Not like that," he says with a jerk of his head. "I mean we need to go to another town—another house—something. Look at yourself," Daryl says with the rise of his palm as if to showcase me. "Everyday he doesn't show up, you darken. You talk less; you eat less; you sleep when you should be goofing around with Carl. Soon enough, you'll be like one of them—," he points his finger out to a walker down the road. His eyes widen for a moment. "You don't even know how serious I am about that."

I chew my lip for a moment. Daryl's brow furrows with concern. "I've been in your shoes before, kid." He shakes his head. "It's rough going out everyday only to come back with nothing but disappointment and more questions than answers." His eyes leave me and go to the building. "If you want, we can stop going everyday… maybe it will be easier on you—,"

"I'm fine," I say with a forced smile.

"No, you're not."

I furrow my brow and take a step back. "What; you think I'm depressed or something?"

"With the way you've been acting; yeah."

"I'm fine," I repeat. I shrug lightly and shake my head. "I just want to find him."

"Okay," Daryl grunts as he brings his crossbow back up and begins to the doors. "Let's find him."

As we march up the first flight of stairs, nothing has changed. The note I had left for him over a week ago was still in the same place; untouched as if it had been forgotten. Up the second story stairs, butterflies grew in my stomach; only one more flight before either all hope was diminished or reimbursed.

When we open the heavy door to the roof, sun blinds me for the first few seconds only to be replaced with disappointment. I lower my head as Daryl steps out. Before he can say anything I go back into the stairwell. It wasn't worth it for him to try to lighten the mood. I didn't want to hear the hopeful lie he would tell me today. For all I cared, he could save it for tomorrow.

I hear his steps sound as I sit on the second last step, my feet on the ground level and elbows resting on my knees. It took too much energy to muster up tears. That energy could be used for something more beneficial. Crying never solved anything, anyway.

Daryl's steps become heavier as he hits the stairs I sit on. He slaps his feet on the last three and then sighs loudly as he stands on the floor. I keep my eyes on the linoleum. I didn't want to look at him—no matter how much he understood my situation.

"I couldn't imagine doing this as a kid," he says as he lowers himself beside me on a stair higher. "I remember the first time I went looking for Merle…" Daryl shakes his head. "I was scared. I was afraid I'd find him turned." I bring my eyes up to my feet. "I found a hand instead," he says as if it was an everyday occurrence. In his head, it probably was. "It got to the point where I would see him… but he wasn't really there," he says as he turns his face towards me. Daryl presses his lips together. "I found him in the last place I would ever expect him to be. I wasn't even looking for him at the time. But when I saw him…" he shakes his head again, "… there was no mistaking that ugly mug for someone else."

Daryl turns his head away and looks to the floor. "Funny how you think you'll forget someone's face—family, friends—but then you see them and realize their exactly the way you remembered them." He leans onto his elbows, mirroring my own sitting position. "Sure, they might have a few new scars, they might be a little different—but they're still them."

I feel wetness trickle down my cheek and suddenly I am all too aware of the tears running down my face. I sniffle and wipe them away quickly. Daryl's arm wraps around my shoulder and I feel myself cave into him unwillingly. My head rests on his thigh as he pushes my Mohawk's length out of my face.

"Even when someone turns…" He looks at the wall in front of us. "It's weird; they're still the person you remember, but you know there's no possible way it's actually them. Almost like a magic trick; the bunny goes in the hat, but the hat's empty. You know the rabbit's still there… but it's gone."

Daryl's hand rubs my back as I struggle to stifle my cry. "When Merle—," he shakes his head, his voice hitching. He clears his throat with a cough and tries again. "When I found Merle the last time, I didn't know how to react or what to do. He was my brother. I might not have said it, but I loved him." I can feel his breathing pattern change as he talks. There is silence for a moment and then Daryl throws his head back. "How could someone do that? How can a person leave another human being to turn?" He shakes his head in disgust. "That's sick—that's really sick. I wouldn't even do that to a dog." Daryl takes a deep breath as if to release the anger and calm his soul. "I had to put him down. We don't let our own turn." I feel him shrug. "He may have turned, but I was there to make sure it was stopped before anything else could happen.

"Merle would have wanted it that way—that sick bastard. He would have been laughing if he knew I was the one to put him down." I see Daryl look down at me. "I had a fever… it boiled my blood to the point that all I could think about was Merle. Was he alive? Was he dead? Was he left to rot on a roof in Atlanta?" He grips my shoulder. "I see that same fever in you." I look up and see him making a face. "It nearly killed me, Alex." Daryl breaks eye contact. "I don't want to see what it will do to a kid."

I sigh and straighten back up. I want to say something, but my mind draws a blank. What can you say to someone who shared his inner most thoughts?

"That's why, everyday, I get up and get you and we go. If you're going to put yourself through this, you're not going through it alone." He raises his brow. "It's hard enough with your mind going to places it shouldn't go. At least… this way…" He takes a breath. "You have someone to help carry the burden."

I nod faintly and take a shaky breath. I turn my head towards him and nod again. "I appreciate that, Daryl," I nearly whisper.

"Now," he says as he rises. "Get up off your ass and let's go _look_ for your brother. Walker or not, you won't stop until you find him. The longer that takes the better the chance he's turned. Let's move."

* * *

**Let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

"We can go back if you want," Daryl repeats for the sixth time over the course of two hours. I shake my head once again. Every barn house we passed; every shed and shack—anything with four walls and a door—we stopped, pulled up, and took a look around. If there were walkers on the other side, we would mind ourselves and give a quick examine before heading back into the truck.

With Daryl constantly checking if I was okay with heading out, it was starting to get a little annoying—however surprisingly sweet it was the first three times. His eyes leave the road and look at me as I look behind us.

"I'm serious, Alex," he says. "If you're not ready to leave that town, we can go back."

"Daryl," I say as I look back at him. "I'm fine. Just…" I shake my head. "Keep your eyes on the road."

He lets out a sigh and looks back to the dirt road. It was midday. The air was hot and the wind was hotter. It was the kind of day that made sweat bead on your back and trickle down to your underwear. The smell coming off the two of us was a mix of body odour, fear, and unease. We were headed into unmarked territory and—no matter how many weapons one could carry—it never felt like a safe thing to do.

After a half hour of him not speaking and me looking out in the fields and trees for anything moving remotely humanlike, Daryl points out a gas station. "Looks like we might be heading towards a town," he says as the truck climbs up a hill. Just as we get to the top, houses and shops replace the fields and tree line before us. I look for a welcome sign but all that remains of it are two poles and the corner of what appeared to be a blue billboard.

When the world ended, people went crazy—even back home. Some started looting and riots seemed to have sprung up within a moment's notice; others locked their families in their houses while they torched the place. It wasn't a good moment in human history. Some started killing each other, others decided to make their own 'clans', but most were too late to do anything else but die. Even in my own town, there were broadcasts on the television to stay indoors under any and all circumstances. Other than the fear of being eaten alive, we were afraid of our own kind.

As we drive through the town I can feel my head shaking side to side in dismay. Everywhere you went, you were bound and determined to see something unlike any other—but this town… it was something else.

There were no fences, no wires, nothing to keep the people protected. It must have been one of the first places to be infected before any broadcasts got out. Front yards sat with lawnmowers ready to go while sidewalks sat with boxes of chalk where little kids drew their dreams. As we pass a play-structure, I feel myself cringe. Inside the fence, little children stand motionless until they hear our motor. Once they track us, they begin moaning and groaning like the walkers they had become. That bothered me. That bothered me more than anything in _this_ world. Children should not be allowed to turn. They should be immune and able to live out their lives no matter how shit the world was.

Daryl stops the car and points into the school's parking lot. "See those tracks?" he asks as I look into the gravel. I narrow my eyes and nod. They were faint, but most definitely there. "It rained about three nights ago. The clouds were headed east which would mean it probably rained here too." He sucks his teeth. "Someone's made their way in over the last couple days."

Daryl moves the truck's shift and twists the keys out of the ignition. "We're going in?" I ask, my brow inverted and upper lip curled up.

"What do you think? We're looking for someone. If that isn't who we want, maybe they'll know where he might be."

I nod and quickly unfasten my seatbelt. The children in the fenced schoolyard were bunched in a corner, none of them knowing about the opening almost twenty feet away. Even with them virtually trapped, it was hard to keep my nerve with them moaning in the background. I pick up my sweater and tie it around my waste. Naturally, it was Truitt's. My finger traces over the stitched letters as Daryl comes around and heads up the lot.

"Do you want me to follow?" I ask in an unsure voice.

Daryl turns his head and nods definitely. "I'll need someone to watch my back. The dead are easy; it's the alive that are tricky." I nod and quickly follow behind. As Daryl opens the door he stops abruptly making me bump into his back. "If this person isn't your brother or we're unsure; you're a boy. You understand?"

"Of course," I say with a nod as he looks down at me behind his shoulder. "I wouldn't do it any other way."

"Good." Once again, Daryl pushes the door open, the sound of scratching of metal squeals through the elementary school. As the door closes behind me, darkness encases us. There's no need for panic. We were more than one.

"Should we—,"

"Shh," Daryl hushes with a finger to his lips. Before long, we are tiptoeing through the hall. Each door we open, I hold my breath for what feels like an hour until I see that the room is completely empty. I wasn't sure if I was more afraid of finding a walker or a living man behind the doors.

I take a deep breath and shake my head. We are in a closed in space. If walkers were in here and we had to run, we only knew of one proper exit. What if we took a wrong turn and got lost? I shake the thought out of my head. I was with Daryl. Daryl wouldn't let anything bad happen to me.

As we take a step out of a classroom, I hear a squeak of a sneaker and then my head is pulled back into a choker hold. I let out what I think is a scream but it only comes out as a high pitched gurgle. Daryl turns around quickly, his crossbow ready to fire at any give moment.

"Put your weapon down!" the voice hollers as his grip tightens on my throat. I feel like I might pass out from the lack of air and yet I feel like I might throw up from the pressure on my throat. Whatever was going to happen first, I was happy so long as I didn't die.

"I don't think you're in a position to be barking out orders," Daryl says in a calm voice.

I pull at the arm around my neck but the force only tightens more so. "What makes you think that? Huh?" the voice calls back. By the sound, he couldn't have been much older than his mid-twenties—and he was nervous.

"I've got an bolt locked and ready to fire while you hold that boy by the neck. Which do you think will be quicker; you strangling him or me shooting you?"

"I've got this," he hollers with an uncontrolled voice. Before I can turn my eyes, I see Daryl's widen and a near worried expression on his face. Then I feel it; cool metal on the side of my head. I squirm for a second and then stop as he hollers, "There are bullets in it; I promise you that!" I watch as Daryl's brow furrows and his face deepen with thought. "I'll shoot!" the voice calls. "Put your weapon down!"

Daryl nods his head and slowly lowers his crossbow. "What are you doing?" I yelp as he holds his hands up empty.

"We're just looking for someone," Daryl says as his eyes look to me and then to the floor. "We're not here for trouble."

"Regardless, you found it."

"It's that boy's brother," Daryl continues. "He's been missing for a long while. Alex just wanted to see if he was in here." He watches the man for a moment. "We saw the track marks in the parking lot."

"Shut up! Shut up right now or-or I'll kill him!" the voice hollers as Daryl takes a slow step forward. "Get back!" he calls as the gun is removed from my head and aimed at Daryl.

"H-h-hey," I stammer out. "Don't be pointing that thing his way. He d-doesn't have anything on him. H-he can—," my voice skips a beat as I swallow without control, "—can't do anything." I feel a jerk from the arm and I wince with pain. My nerves are all but there as my knees threaten to give out. "He's cool," I nearly whisper as the grip tightens on my airway. I feel my blood run cold in this humid school. This was not how I pictured myself dying—not at the hands of some Nervous Nelly with an itchy trigger finger.

"I'll point my gun wherever I want!" he shouts, his voice ringing through the hall and up the staircase at the end.

"It's cool," Daryl says with a nod my way. "We're not asking for trouble. We just want to know if you have seen his brother."

"What's his name?" the young man asks after a moment of tension.

"Truitt," I squeak out. I feel the man push me away, my body out of my control as I fall ass first to the floor.

"Bullshit," he growls. "The only Truitt I know is a no good liar. He's nothing but bad news and if you really are his brother, I have more reason to kill you than not!"

"No," Daryl says as he steps in front of me. "Alex has nothing to do with your problems. We just want to know where he is."

"There's no room in this world for all of us. The geeks have proved that much," the man says as he raises his gun to Daryl's head. "I'm doing you a favour, so say goodnight," he nearly whispers.

Before the bullet fires, I grip Daryl's crossbow and shoot blindly in the direction of the man. There is a grunt and then a groan, but who it is, I am uncertain.

* * *

**I figured I would give you all a bit of a break and have a nice 'short' chapter.**

**Please let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

"Is Daryl okay?" I turn my head to Rick as he restrains me on the table. I try to push myself up, but the pain is too much and my efforts only result in grunts, moans, and tears. I didn't know how I got here—or if I had ever left.

"You need to relax," he says as I throw my head back in pain. "You've been shot—,"

"So was Daryl," I struggle out as my teeth chatter from shock. That was all I really remembered—I didn't even know for sure if I had seen it, but I knew he had been shot.

"This isn't going to feel too good." Bob stands over me with a wet rag and a bottle of vodka. "You have a good grip on her?" he asks and I almost question it until Rick's grip tightens and he nods. I watch as Bob brings the rag to my skin and, suddenly, the world around me flashes orange, green, and black as I release a hellish scream.

If I thought the pain was bad before, I was terribly mistaken. My limbs stiffen and I scream loudly as Bob continues to clean the area. My chin locks down just above Rick's head as I let out another holler.

"Stop," I cry with my breathing hitched and eyes welled up. "Please," I beg.

Bob looks down at me and shakes his head. "It needs to be cleaned, Alex." He shakes his head as I fight to keep from embarrassing myself further. The rag, however, never stops wiping away my blood. "I don't like doing it—but it needs to be done. We have to close it up but it _needs_ to be as clean as we can get it.

"Where's—," I cut myself off with a new scream as he goes back to wiping the wound. My legs bend and twist below me and catch on Bob's body making him move to the opposite side of the table. I toss my head back again and groan as he continues. Spit flies from my mouth as I try to stifle my cries. I was shot. Daryl was shot. The mystery man was dead—or was he?

"Almost done," I hear Bob say; it sounds like a whisper under my thoughts. I shot Daryl.

"Is he okay?" I holler again, anger making my voice gruff.

Bob takes a new rag and directs Rick to put pressure on it. Blood taints the tan material quickly, like watercolour seeps into paper. As Bob continues to ignore my questions, I wince as Rick's hands hold tight over the gunshot.

After a moment, Rick turns his head towards me. "You're losing a lot of blood, Alex." He shakes his head. "If you keep thrashing and hollering, you're going to lose even more. You need to relax as best you can and let Bob fix you up."

I close my eyes and feel the tears break from my lashes. "What about Daryl?" I nearly whisper, the words slow and staggered. Suddenly, I feel my head drop back and see nothing but blackness and feel nothing but a cool numbing run over my body.

* * *

"Hey there," I hear as my eyes open and land on the doll-like face of Mamma Carol. I cannot help but smile at seeing her.

"You won the bet," I say, my throat scratching and mouth like sand as I remember Daryl's eggs.

Carol lets out a small giggle and nods. "I did," she says, turning her head away. Her hands rise to her eyes and wipe away something.

I furrow my brow. "You were crying," I say, a statement or question—neither of us can tell. I try to sit up, but the pain in my stomach makes my eyes tightly shut and eyebrow furrow deeply as I hiss out the pain.

"Don't get up," Carol demands as she places a hand on my shoulder. "If you need something, just let me know and I'll get it for you." I look back at her and she smiles again. "I'm glad you woke up," she says, the words soft and pained with the unknown and uncertain.

My hands feel around the bed until they touch my body. I pull the blankets down and bring my shirt up. It was a calm shock to see a bandage wrapped around just over my bellybutton. Blood seeped through in a perfect circle about the size of a quarter.

"I changed your dressings this morning," Carol says through the side of her mouth. "The wound is healing—but it's taken awhile to close, that's all." I tear my eyes from the bandage with disgust and lower my shirt—as if I was trying to hide it; like not seeing it meant it wasn't there.

"Do you remember anything?" Carol asks making me turn my head back to her.

I furrow my brow in thought. "I was shot," I say with little emotion. Carol nods. "There was a man… he was going to shoot Daryl, but I shot him." Again, she nods. "I think…" I furrow my brow and shake my head but Carol raises her brow as if to egg me on. "D—," I stop myself. After a breath of courage, I ask, "Did Daryl get shot too?"

I watch as Carol's grey eyes look back at me and for a moment, I want to take back the question. The sadness those eyes carried was almost enough to make another being cry. "He did," she says simply. I pause for a moment, my blood running cold. "He's alive," she adds quickly. "Doing much better than you—I can say that much." My heart starts pumping again returning warmth to my extremities.

"Where is he?" I ask with more interest than I care to admit.

"He comes in," she says with a nod to the door. "He's usually in here three times a day. Once in the morning; he says his hellos. Once at noon; he eats in here and tells you all the stuff you're going to have to do when you wake up." She smirks. "At night, he comes in and says goodnight after telling you about his day." Carol's eyes fall "He was really worried about you."

I take a deep breath. "What time is it now?" I ask.

"Eager to get rid of me?" she says with a laugh. I roll my eyes and smirk. "I know… I'm not Daryl." She looks out the window and sighs. "He should be here soon."

I nod. After a moment's pause, I bring my arms up and under my head with a wince. "How long was I out?"

Carol stands from her chair and goes to a table in the back and returns with a water bottle in her hands. She lays it beside me and takes a breath. "You've been coming in and out for about a week." She crosses her legs. "The most we could do with you when you woke up was get you to drink and maybe eat if you weren't in too much pain." I nod. "It got infected… we were all scared. I've been taking turns watching you with Maggie."

For a moment I feel warmth until I realize why they would needed to watch me. It wasn't because they cared, they were afraid I would turn. They wouldn't have been able to leave me in case I died—lest I turn and take them out with me while they slept. It was a grave reality.

"Can you help me sit up?" I ask as I try to pull myself up again. "I hate talking when I'm lying down. I feel so—," Carol rises and pulls me up, props my pillows up and leans me back. I smirk. "Thanks," I say.

"I've been doing it for a while. That was much easier than flailing around a limp body." Her small mouth gives a grin. She says, "Didn't want you to get bedsores." Her brow rises. "And I've been changing your clothes."

I cringe. "I'm sorry."

Carol shakes her head. "Don't be."

We both turn our heads to the door as we hear footsteps sound in the hallway. "Carol, is Judith supposed to be on the paper pile? Carl was saying she'd be fine but—,"

"Can't ask that boy to do anything," Carol rises as Daryl enters the room. Suddenly, she smirks and says, "Look who decided to wake up."

For a split second, Daryl's eyes widen as they land on me. He takes three eager steps and then slows his swagger back down to his usual pace. "I'll be back in a bit," Carol says to me. "I'd imagine you two have a bit of catching up to do." I nod and she smiles. As she leaves the room, Daryl stops at a safe distance from the bed.

"I'm sorry I shot you," I say with a wince as my throat scratches. I open the water bottle and take a sip before recapping it.

Daryl shrugs and takes a step closer. "I already forgot about it." His eyes narrow as he takes another step. "You locked that second bolt pretty quick. I don't know how you did it." One more step. "Have you ever shot a crossbow before?"

I shake my head and say, "Never in my life and I doubt I could do it again."

"Beginners luck," he says passively. Daryl then takes a seat on Carol's chair. "How do you feel?" he asks after a moment.

"Like shit," I say with a chuckle. "My stomach hurts, I can't move, my throat hurts and I can't remember some stuff."

"What stuff?"

I shrug. "How did we get back?"

"I helped you to the truck and drove back," he says plainly.

"How did you drive?" I ask. "I shot you—,"

"Skimmed me; hurt like a bitch, but it only ripped the skin." He shows me the pink scar on his neck. I cringe—though it is more for the pain I caused him than the pain in my belly. "I bled like a stuck pig. By the time we got back, you had passed out and I was on the verge." He smirks morbidly. "The truck's interior looked like a crime scene." I let out a chuckle. Daryl takes a deep breath and lets out an audible sigh. "You had me worried," he says quietly.

I furrow my brow and grin. "The Great Daryl Dixon worried about little old me? I thought you were too tough for that stuff, man."

"Naw… it's too late to pretend I hate you." He leans back in the chair and props his feet on the edge of my bed. "I didn't know what to do while we waited."

"What do you mean?" my voice sounds before I even think.

Daryl shrugs. "Every day we go out and look. With you out of the game, I didn't know what to do with myself." One of his hands pulls at a thread hanging on his jeans. I nod. After over a year of feeling like I wouldn't be missed, I thought the days of thinking people would miss me were over.

"Carol said you came and visited me," I say after a moment.

He makes a face and then nods. "Once or twice," he lies, but I do not call him on it. "How much longer until you feel good enough to move?" he asks.

I snort and shake my head. "I just woke up, Daryl," I say. I look at him with a smirk. "You must have missed me." I cock my head. "Did Bob say how deep the bullet went in?"

Daryl drops his feet to the floor and leans with his elbows on his knees. "He said it punctured your intestines. He couldn't believe you made it after I told him how far we drove." His brow furrows.

"Was the guy really dead?"

"Deader than a doornail," Daryl says with a nod. "You shot him in the neck. He squirmed for a bit until I took the bolt out; then he bled." I narrow my eyes. He smirks. "You wouldn't give me back the crossbow. Your knuckles were white from the grip you had on it. Even when you passed out, your hands held the damn thing like your life depended on it."

I look to the blanket over me. "It did," I whisper softly and Daryl gives a solemn nod.

"Do you remember anything?"

I close my eyes for a second. "I remember you telling me to stay awake." He nods.

"Stay with me," I remember him hollering as my eyes refused to stay open. "Lexa—," I opened my eyes and mimed a hush, "—Lexa, open your eyes. Open them now, goddamn it!" Whether it was due to the loss of blood or my foggy memory, there was something in his voice that made the hairs on my arms stand up—something that made his voice falter. Fear, perhaps.

"You called me Lexa," I say with a smirk.

He furrows his brow. "I thought you would listen better if I used a name more familiar to you." I nod. "I'm sorry about—,"

I shake my head. "If you can forgive me for shooting you, I should be able to forgive you. It wasn't your fault anyway." I take a deep breath. "It was the asshole's shit aim." Daryl smiles and crosses his arms over his chest.

"If it wasn't for that asshole's shit aim I'd probably—,"

"I didn't mean it like that," I say quickly.

Daryl nods. "I know," he says.

I rest my arms at my side as a silence sweeps over us. Daryl was different; the way he spoke to me had changed—even the way his eyes settled on me. There was a comfort, but the comfort bordered on fragility. Did he see me more as a fragile child than a wounded soldier?

"How's Carl doing?" I ask after taking a quick breath.

"Good," Daryl says as he crosses a leg over the opposite knee. "He's been helping out a lot." I invert my brow with confusion. "Mostly with Judith," Daryl clarifies. "Rick didn't want Carol bringing her in here in case—,"

"In case I turned," I finish for him as if to make it easier on him. "I don't blame him," I say as he watches me. I shrug. "What would have happened if I had turned and Carol was holding Judith?" I shake my head. "I don't even want to think about it."

Daryl smirks and shakes his head at me. I cock my head and shrug once more. "I was pissed when they started the watch. I told them that they were insane to think you wouldn't wake up." Daryl sighs. I knew what he meant; if they started watching me every second, it meant they believed I was a goner. I furrow my brow as Daryl leans forward with a warning look. "Don't you ever—_ever_—do that to me again." I watch him for a moment, a perplexed expression on my face.

"Don't get shot?"

"Don't you dare die—not with me," Daryl says before leaning back again. "If you die; you better not do it under my watch. Understand?"

I nod with uncertainty. "Yeah…"

"Good."

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_**Important Notice! **_**I have just finished the story, now, I am thinking about uploading twice a week, more or less just to get this story off my back. Let me know your thoughts on this; if you think this is a good idea or if you prefer the anticipation of every Friday's upload.**

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**Please let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

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**Chapter Nineteen**

By the following week, I was back in the game—crowd control, to be exact. Carl was little less than talkative since my waking. We had probably only spoken thrice, each time due to gathering breakfast for one another. He wouldn't even look me in the eyes when we sat across from each other. It was like I was tainted—like I was less than human for having nearly died.

The first hour of work went by silently, nothing but grunts came from our mouths as we jabbed knives into walker skulls. I thought it would be nice—not having to worry about what the other person was going to say—but I was wrong. It was incredibly awkward.

During the second hour, there was no way to keep this silence between us—no matter how much Carl didn't want to talk. Riot, our walker friend, made a b-line to the gate as a car pulled away with Rick, Daryl and Tyreese in it. As Riot made his way to them, he did his gorilla grunts and then tripped as his foot fell into a gopher hole.

As if to confirm we both saw it, Carl and I look at each other with the same bulging eyes and stupid grin only to laugh loudly and uncontrollably.

"He has to be the worst walker to ever turn," Carl says as we bust our guts watching him try to stand again.

I shake my head as I hold my stomach. It still hurt—but instead of sudden bursts of pain, it would only pinch. Bob said it was the nerves tissue causing the pinching. "You're too hard on him. You expect too much of him. Riot," I call out to the walker, "don't listen to Carl; you're the best walker to ever roam the earth!"

Riot brings his hands beneath him and as he pushes himself up, his left rotted wrist snaps in two making his hand hang on a thin string of muscle still connected to his arm. Carl and I make faces of disgust and Carl even throws in a fake dry heave which only makes us laugh again.

"Well," Carl says as he tosses his knife to the grass making it land blade in, "I think it's about for a break time."

I nod in agreement. Even though it was just the same motion over and over again, it was hard work to penetrate the skulls. Despite some of them having more give than others, it burned the muscles and made the heart pound.

"Check it out," Carl says as he lifts his short sleeve and shows off his bicep. I smirk and give a nod. He looks at the other and shakes his head. "I'm going to have to even them out…"

I stand in front of him and furrow my brow with concern. "Did you get your tickets?"

Carl stares at me with his brow lowered. "No… for what?" he asks with uncertainty.

"To the Gun Show!" I growl out in my lowest most manly voice as I show off both my biceps. Carl lets out a laugh and shakes his head. "What do you bring to a party?" I ask and he shrugs. I feel my lips curve into a smile and try to shake it off before I belt out, "Two guns and a six pack!" With the words, I flex my arms again and then mime a six pack across my stomach. With Carl still laughing I lower myself to the grass with a wince.

He shakes his head and lets out another chuckle as he tries to speak. "I've never heard those before," he says still smiling. There's a quiet moment that passes us. It's nice—it doesn't feel forced or fought. I take a deep breath and enjoy the simple sunny day. The birds that sit on the fence around us chirp happily while the walkers crowd around waiting for the fence to give way.

"What happened to you, man?" he asks with a shrug. His voice brings me back to the moment.

I raise my brow and shrug, "I got shot." I look to the grass below us.

"No, I mean… when Daryl brought you back and they took you into the room, I wasn't aloud to go in." Carl's eyes narrow. "I even tried coming to visit you when you were sleeping and Maggie and Carol kept sending me out." He shakes his head. "Why did they do that?"

I shrug and look to the fence. "Maybe they thought you were too young—,"

"I've seen a lot of things, Alex. A gunshot is a pea compared to most." I furrow my brow and press my lips together. "I think they were hiding something," he suddenly says.

My eyes dart to his and then away. "What would they be hiding?"

Carl watches me for a minute. "I think they were hiding you—,"

I scoff. "Why would they want to hide _me_?"

I look to him as he stays quiet. His eyes are narrowed and his lips are parted. "I spoke to Carol." I feel my heart drop. "She wouldn't say anything—so I went to Maggie." He shakes his head. "She didn't say anything either, but she was nervous." I make a face and Carl's eyes intensify. "You're a girl—,"

I turn my head ways. "You're high—,"

"I spoke to Glenn, Alex." I look back at him. "He told me." He shakes his head again and then lowers his chin. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I lull my head for a moment with my upper lip curled. I remember this thing my mom used to talk about; PHIA. She worked at the hospital as a nurse back home. In order to work there, she had to swear an oath or something to PHIA; take a test, the whole nine yards. It was a privacy act; if a patient came in, she couldn't tell other people about them. I take a deep breath. Glenn broke PHIA—though, technically he never agreed to it.

"Why does it matter?" I ask after a long pause.

Carl shakes his head. "I thought we were friends."

I laugh. "We _are_ friends, though."

"How can we be?" Carl stands and looks down at me. "I don't even know you." I watch as he stomps back to the storage house. I know I should follow, I know I should do something—but I don't. Instead, I stand from the grass and continue on with the job he and I had started.

By the time I head back to the storage house, the sun is hanging low in the sky and my clothes are tainted with the walkers' red-black blood. I drop my knife onto the weapons table. The knife clashes with other metal on the table; the people on the main floor startle and look my way when it sounds. I pay no attention to them—no, I'm far too angry.

I march up the steps and as I get to the start of the hall, I see Glenn. I move past him, but, unfortunately, before we pass, he says, "Hey, Alex. What's up?"

I stop mid-step and turn towards him. My eyes are narrowed and my nostrils flare with the deep anger I've only let broil in the sun. "It was none of his business—," I shake my head, "—it was none of _your_ business!" I step towards him and he shrinks back only to be pinned against the wall. "If I ever hear you leaking information that you have no business letting out happen again—," I narrow my eyes and wrinkle my nose, "—I will be the end of you!"

"What are you talking about—,"

I hit my fist on the wall beside his shoulder. He was taller than me, but I was not afraid to let him know just how bold I could be. Glenn's dark eyes look down at me. "Carl," I say simply and suddenly, understanding leaks across his face. "Get out of my sight before I do something you won't like." I take a step away and he races down the stairs. I know he will tell someone; Rick will ask for me to see him—Carol will probably be there. I'll be asked to calm down—but will Glenn be punished as well; it was a snowball's chance in hell.

I make my way up the second flight of stairs and pause just before I touch the doorknob. I take a deep breath. I was unsure how I wanted to handle this; anger fueled or with a tranquil calm. Which would get me further?

I twist the knob and push the door open. Quickly, I step in and close the door.

"Holy shit!" I hear Carl holler as I turn his way. He stands up, but I widen my arms out guarding the door.

"We are friends," I say after realizing his reaction may be due to the blood on my clothes. Carl opens his mouth but I wave my hand as if knocking his words out before they could reach the air. "Sit down—,"

"No—,"

"Do you want to know why I didn't tell you or do you just want to sulk in your room?" I ask patronizingly. He slowly sits back down on his office chair.

I take a breath and run a hand through my hair as I step away from the door. I rub my hands on my pants and sigh. "I had gone too long pretending," I begin. "Too long pretending and too long wanting to keep a distance." Carl watches me as I take another step forward. "I didn't even tell your dad—he found out because of Daryl—,"

"You told Daryl?"

"No," I say with a dirty look. "I told no one." I shrug. "Things were going good but then Daryl and I found that tape from Truitt." Carl nods. "Truitt was the one who ratted me out." He furrows his brow. "Daryl told your dad. Rick gave me the option of telling everyone or keeping it a secret. I chose the latter."

"Why?"

I shake my head. "People look at you differently." I lick my lips. "As soon as Daryl found out, he started acting differently. Suddenly, I needed help getting off the roof we were on. I mean, it was subtle, but the point is it changed things." I eyes fall to the floor. "I needed a friend…"

Carl stands from his chair and shyly steps towards me. I cannot bring myself to look him in the eye. "I wanted a friend… but I fucked that up, didn't I?" I ask with a sad smirk as I finally look at his face. Nothing about his face changes; he is expressionless and I feel my chest concave. I shake my head and lean against the wall. "I shouldn't be here," I say in a breath as I lower my chin.

"You can stay," he says, his blue orbs examining me.

I slide down, my knees rising to my chest and arms hugging around them. "No," I say nasally, "I shouldn't be _here_." I cup my face, emotional exhaustion making every muscle in my body hurt. "What am I doing here?" I look up at him; my eyes are welled and my face is fighting to hide my despair. "I could be coming home from school right now—I might have even been on the girl's volleyball team this year." I lower my head. "Instead, I'm here." I press my lips together. "I came here looking for Truitt." I look back up at Carl. "You want to know something?" I don't wait for an answer. "Up until that moment I shot that man, I honestly thought I would find him alive." I swallow back a cry. "But if I, a fifteen year old girl, can kill someone so easily… what would make me believe someone wouldn't do that to Truitt?" I sigh and quickly wipe away a fallen tear. "Pretty stupid, eh?" I ask with an indifferent smile. "Stupid and naïve," I spit.

Just as Carl opens his mouth to speak, the door beside me swings open nearly slamming into me. "Where's Alex?" Rick nearly hollers.

"What do you mean?" Carl asks.

"Glenn said he threatened him—,"

"The jig is up," I say pushing the door so Rick sees me. "Everyone knows now, Rick. I'm a girl," I say, my hands dropping to the floor. I push myself up and sigh. "Save your breath," I say before Rick speaks again, "I'm leaving right now. You don't have to worry about me threatening anyone else." I shake my head and look to my shoes. "Consider me gone—,"

"No—Alex—,"

I bring my hand up to stop Carl's pleading. As the room falls silent, I move past Rick and slowly make my way down the stairs, up the hallway, and into Carol's room to gather my things.

This is why I never liked staying in groups for too long. I always found myself getting too comfortable and comfort got people killed. I push down my shirts in my gym bag and quickly shove down my spare pair of pants. It would be easier if this was done quickly and quietly. Leaving a group meant people would want to say goodbye. Goodbyes were never easy, no matter how much people may have hated you; they were still sad to see you go.

I take a deep breath and look around the room for a moment. I had literally nothing to leave behind for anyone. All I had in my bag were things I _needed_ there was no room for want, no space for special things.

Quickly, I race to my mattress and flip it over. The camera with Truitt's video lays in the torn box spring. I lift it up; my thumb flips open the screen, but I think better of it and close it quickly. I feel a breeze on my skin and I turn to see the window open. I slowly step towards it and look down at the camcorder. Truitt was deader than my hope.

Daryl was right; these were the last words of a dying man. Without hesitation, I wind my arm back and throw the stupid thing out the window. It was as if a part of me died as I watched it explode into shrapnel as it hit the ground outside.

My journey was over; I was finally going home.

* * *

**Please let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

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**Chapter Twenty**

I grip my stomach as the last Tylenol wears off. There were eight little white pills in the bottle Bob insisted on giving me before I left. I broke them in halves just to make sure there would be enough, but they weren't. I keel over and take a deep breath. The wound was still open and it had been bleeding for the last eight days. Bob warned me not to over do it, but when you're alone with things all around that can kill you, it was hard not to push yourself.

As I pull my hand away, crimson taints my palm and drips off my fingers. It was getting worse by the hour. I look around as I catch my breath and quickly make my way up a tree. I wince and hiss as my stomach radiates with pain. It had been nearly two weeks on the road and I was still in Georgia.

I pull up my shirt and quickly look away from the wound. It was beginning to stink—just like the walkers, in fact. The skin surrounding the wound was red and hot to the touch while the flesh that made up the scab was puffy and swollen with puss.

I wipe the sweat off my brow and carefully lower my shirt down. If the infection wasn't in my bloodstream yet, it wouldn't take much longer to do so. I toss my bag down and jump back to the ground, the impact makes me groan and bend with my arms around my stomach.

I wipe at my eyes as they well up. It seemed easier to cry when I was alone whether it was from the pain in my stomach or the pain in my heart. As I look out through the trees, something out in the distance catches my eye.

My first response is to keep hidden, God forbid it being a walker. As I lower myself to the grass, I watch. It runs, falls, gets up, and runs again. I narrow my eyes as my blood pressure hammers in my ears. They run with a limp; but they are too far away to see their face and moving too quickly to be anything near a walker.

Out of blind hope I rise and step forward. A voice in my head whispers, "Truitt," but the thought makes my mouth open and holler out as loud as I can the same name. Whether it is my mind's eye or reality, I see the figure stop for a moment in the heavy brush and then keep running. "Truitt," I call again as I take another step.

The figure keeps running and it only sparks a new life in me. I quickly sling my bag over my shoulder and start running as fast as I can. I didn't care about the pain; I didn't care about the blood. In my heart, I knew that was my brother.

As I gain on the figure, I see what it is running from as I break out of the tree line. Just south of him walkers follow. I pick up speed and nearly trip over the overgrown grass. Where was he going?

It feels like I've run miles when I finally see the figure's destination; a modest hospital just outside of a small town. I watch as the figure opens the door and disappears. "Truitt," I call again, but get nothing in return other than the walkers' attention.

I stop abruptly as they make a b-line my way. I have no knives, no weapons; nothing to defend myself. What was I thinking?

I quickly race to the left, thinking I would have a better chance to get around them as if the right was any worse. No matter which way I went, I would have to somehow get passed them and into those doors. Without further thought, I charge around; my legs throbbing with adrenaline as one walker lunges his teeth my way. He misses by barely an inch and falls to the grass making his neck snap and sit unnaturally on his shoulders.

As he gets out of my way, I see an opening to the door; though small, it was better than nothing. I run as fast as my legs can go and as I hit the door, my heart sinks. It won't budge—but my mind doesn't seem to process it. I hit it three times, banging it with my shoulder, kicking it in desperation. The noise doesn't help my situation with walkers. As I turn back around I lean against the door and my legs give out from under me. The walkers have closed in. Not three feet away are their teeth—their hands—their sickness.

I press myself tightly against the door and hold my breath. One of the walkers is more eager than the others. She takes a lung my way, but I hold her back by her shoulders as I struggle to get back to my feet. I grunt as she fights me and she groans as her teeth wish to penetrate my flesh. I can see another creep in and he joins the action with little warning as he opens his mouth and goes in for my arm.

_Thwick_!

_Thwick_!

_Thwick_! _Thwick_! _Thwick_!

The walkers before me fall down with arrows sticking out of their heads along with three others. My eyes look out for the source but already a part of me already knows who they'll find. Daryl quickly runs towards me, his crossbow shooting off as walkers zone in on him now. Each fallen walker he passes, he picks up his shot bolts and shoots again.

"What are you waiting for?" he barks as I stand at the door. He puts his foot on one of the walker's heads and pulls hard only to have it to not give. With one more yank, it comes out along with chunks of skull and brain as the head crushes under his shoe.

I shake my head as he shoots another down. "It's locked—he locked it," I call out. As Daryl gets to my side, his eyes narrow and his lips press tightly together. Daryl's head turns to the right for a moment and then he takes my wrist and runs along the hospital's wall.

"Watch yourself," he warns as he lifts a rock and knocks on one of the two window we stand before. After three hard bashes, the window yields and he boosts me up and over before climbing into safety himself.

There is no time to relax in the building. As if it were second nature, we both start grabbing at gurneys and file cabinets and whatever else will move and barracked the broken window. As the walkers crowd around, their hands reach through and pull at the hospital furniture. We leave the classroom before they can make their way in but not before they break the remaining window themselves.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Daryl barks as he pins me against the wall in the corridor. My eyes widen—but not for his anger. "Leaving without tell me—what's wrong with you?" he growls. I shake my head. His mouth opens again, but I slam my palm over his lips and turn his head down the corridor.

More walkers stand before us—more than what were outside. They watch us with hungry eyes and make their rigid way towards us. They moan, groan, and some even hiss. My heart throbs in my throat as I feel Daryl's body stiffen. His own eyes widen—but he somehow keeps his calm.

I take a step back. "We have to get out of here," I say breathlessly and nearly scream as I bump into a walker behind me. Daryl pulls me away just before the thing can bite my shoulder. As if there was no time for smell before, my nose stings with the bitter scent of the crowded walkers; it was a cross between rotting flesh and fermented urine.

Daryl takes my hand and leads the way once again, pushing and knocking over walkers in the process to get to a more open area. I want to scream—but I don't—I want to cry—but I don't—I want to turn back—but I can't.

"In here," he murmurs as he twists a door's knob and pushes me in. I trip over a mop and fall onto the cold floor of a janitorial closet. My jaw clenches and my eyes won't stop tracing every inch of the closet.

"We're going to die in here, aren't we?" I hear a small voice say.

"No," Daryl snaps back lowly.

"All because of me," I add as if I didn't hear him. "I'm sorry I killed you," I nearly whisper but Daryl only narrows his eyes as if to refuse the ending I picked out for our story together.

I watch as he slides himself down the wall and onto the floor across from me. "I'm sorry," I repeat and a vague memory of a young man saying just the same to myself in a very similar place plays in my head. Daryl rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his dark hair. His hairline is soaked with sweat—whether it is from exertion or panic, I cannot tell.

"We wait it out," he finally says after a moment. "They'll lose interest." Sweat trickles down his temple and drips off his jaw line.

"How will we know when they're gone?" I ask as I lean forward slightly.

He shrugs. "We won't—and they won't go far. They're stuck in here, same as us." Comparing _them_ to us seemed vulgar and left a bad taste on the tongue. "They're hungry too, so they'll probably stick around for awhile." I nod and lean back. "We have to be quiet and _stay_ quiet," he adds and I nod again. "They'll lose interest," he repeats, either for himself or me—I can't say.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. If this plan worked, I would need my energy to get out. Something bangs and then slides on the opposite side of the door and I jump and shoot my eyes open. I look across at Daryl and he holds his index finger to his lips. His eyes are relaxed—as if this entire situation was below him. My stomach aches with all the strain from my run as I try to relax yet again, but, this time, I do not close my eyes.

"Did you see the door we were trying to get in?" I ask with little movement of my lips in hopes my words will be softer than a whisper.

Daryl nods once. "It was more open over there." He takes a slow breath. "It looks like whoever it was you ran down went through them and they followed." He raises his jaw up and leans his head back on the wall. "He must have gotten away… they would have been too busy picking at his bones to have noticed us."

I nod slowly. I want to ask him how he got here and why he wasn't at the storage house, but I knew this was neither the place nor time for such trivial things. I was merely grateful he was here and I was still breathing.

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**A little longer than the last, but not by much.**

**Please let me know what you think, how I'm doing and what I could do better :)**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

* * *

**In celebration of the Walking Dead Season Five, I have decided to upload another chapter.**

**Be warned, there is only one left after this.**

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**Chapter Twenty One**

We sit in that small room for what seems like hours. Every so often, if I started dozing off, Daryl would smack my leg. If he fell asleep, I kept him asleep until he woke himself up. He looked too tired to keep waking. Circles under his eyes blacker than the night sky tainted his intense stare and his face seemed sallow as well, but he would never admit he needed sleep. He wasn't that kind of man.

As he stirs from his latest nap, Daryl's head drops to his shoulder only to bob back up with his eyes wide open. I quickly look away. Last time he found out I let him sleep he told me to wake him.

He takes a deep breath and rubs his face. "Anymore knocks from the outside?" he asks as he stretches. I shake my head and then abruptly stop.

"About twenty minutes ago I heard some stumbling, but nothing on the door," I say and his eyes look at the space between the floor and the door.

Daryl stands and I mimic though my hands hold my stomach. "What's wrong with you?" he asks and I shake my head. He furrows his brow and quickly tugs at my shirt. I try to stop him, but it is too late, Daryl's eyes start at the gaping hole in my belly. "We'll look for some antibiotics," he says as if the infection was shallow enough to recover from.

He brings his crossbow up, holds it ready for fire as his free hand rises to the doorknob and slowly twists it. All I hear is the slow and steady pace of his breath as I hold onto my own, too afraid to make a noise.

A crack is all he needs as he looks through and checks if it's safe. He closes the door and I feel my heart drop with dismay. Daryl looks at me and presses his lips together. "It's clear—but there's two only three doors down and one at the end of the hall. I don't know where the others went." His eyes fall to the floor. "We could risk it… but I doubt it would be a good idea to look while you're like this." I nod and cannot help but feel disappointment. What if it was him? What if it was Truitt and we chose to walk away when he was just under our noses.

I shake my head. "You can go back. I want to look—,"

"That's stupid," Daryl spits quietly. "You don't even know if it is him—,"

"If you thought it was Merle, would you give up?" I ask and Daryl lowers his head. "I mean, it might not be him—but how can I know if I don't check?"

"You've got a death wish, you know that?" He shakes his head but I stay strong. Daryl couldn't leave me. Whether it was because we had suffered the same pain or because he actually enjoyed my company, he could not leave me to die. I watch as he opens the door. The feeling was mutual; I could not leave him to die either.

As we step out, I watch carefully as the two walkers slowly bring their attention to us. If there was a moment in time I ever felt real determination, it was now; standing behind Daryl with death more likely than life as an outcome while I still burned deeply to find my brother. I take a step out of Daryl's shadow as the two walkers stumble closer. Before Daryl can shoot his bolt, I have gripped one of the walkers by their hair. I grunt as I smash its face into the concrete wall of the hallway. Skull fragments and skin burst, but it still moves. It takes four more bashes for it to de-animate, but, when I am done, I feel revitalized—almost sure that I will make it through this; that I will find my brother.

I move forward, my eyes focusing on the second, but before I can reach out, Daryl's bolt shoots and hits it between its eyebrows. As it falls dead, I continue down the hall. The third has now taken to us, his clouded eyes watching every movement as he limps his way towards us. Before I can take another step, Daryl fires and quickly picks up his bolts. As he passes me to get his second he narrows his eyes and bumps my shoulder.

"When I said you had a death wish, I didn't mean it. Now stop it. You're acting like a fool," he growls lowly. I try to catch up to his side as he turns to the right down the hall, but he nudges me away with his shoulder. I push him back but he stops and pins me between the wall making me gasp. "You have no weapons, you have nothing, Alex. You stay behind me." I narrow my eyes at him. "I'm not playing around here." He shakes his head. "You're hurt and if you keep going the way you are, we mind as well feed you to the walkers."

"I was doing just fine on my own—,"

"When was this?" he asks as he pushes himself away from me. "When you had those walkers surrounding you? You were a scared little bitch—a sitting duck." I clench my jaw.

"If you don't want to be here with me, I'm not holding you back—leave!" I bark back.

Daryl watches me for a second, his nostrils flare with anger. Suddenly, he brings his face nose to nose with me. "I'm not leaving," he says in a whisper. "And if I were, I would make sure to let you know."

The words hit me like a spear to the heart. I dart my eyes away from him and feel my upper lip curl up slightly. "I'm better than that," Daryl spits as he backs away from me. I bite my bottom lip as I try to fight back the emotions I feel. "Let's find your brother—,"

"You didn't have to follow me; I didn't ask you to," I nearly whisper.

Daryl glares at me. "And have you die?" He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "I couldn't live with that hanging on my shoulders," Daryl says.

"It wouldn't be on you. It'd be on me—,"

"You know, you should be a little kinder to the only friend you have left," he growls as he continues down the hall. "Now, let's move," he says sternly as he turns his head over his shoulder.

Just as I take a step towards him, I feel myself freeze up. It is like the world around me has stopped moving. I clutch at my heart and look at the figure in front of Daryl as he holds his crossbow to him. Daryl hollers some words and the figure raises his hands. My knees buckle and I fall to the floor, my mouth stuck open and an ungodly noise coming from my mouth. I'm afraid to close my eyes—afraid that what I am seeing is a figment of my imagination. Suddenly, the figure hurriedly limps towards me as Daryl yells for it to stop.

He drops to the floor before me and wraps his arms around me and, suddenly, I am home. I raise my arms up to the face and touch his cheeks as he holds me tight, not willing to let me go.

"Alexa," Truitt says with a smile and tears. As Truitt holds me, I feel myself fade—I feel the world around me disappear. My brother is with me; I'm home. Just as I pull away from him, I see him raise a gun up. I don't know what described my face best at that moment, possibly horror and confusion fused into one. The gun goes off and—in my favour—the bullet goes past my head. I, however, feel myself collapse the rest of the way to the floor.

Ringing taints my ears and vibrates my head as I watch Daryl come into view and begin firing his bolts off to unseen enemies. Truitt looks down at his gun and shakes his head, his mouth moving as Daryl's flaps with strong unheard words.

I close my eyes and feel hands grab out to me. They bring me to my feet, an arm now wrapped around me as we move fast. When my eyes open, I look to my side and see Daryl there. I turn my head over my shoulder and see Truitt still firing away behind us.

I dip under Daryl's arm and head back for my brother. Hot tears race down my face as all I can think of is losing my brother again; this time more permanently. I can hear Daryl's muffled hollers, but keep going; Truitt is in danger, walkers flood the hall's corner and quickly gain ground on him. He was sacrificing himself.

I grab at Truitt's waistband and pull him back as I fall back to my knees. The pain in my stomach is more than I can handle as Truitt falls to his back end. He quickly stands, his brown eyes glaring at me as if I did something wrong.

I look back at the walkers and feel my heart stop as a dozen crawl, limp, and stumble our way. "Go!" I holler, but Truitt pushes me back as a walker lunges my way. A bullet flies out of his gun and the walker falls dead. He reaches into his pocket for more ammunition and quickly reloads. I pull myself up with agony and let out an ungodly holler as I manage enough strength to pull Truitt back Daryl's way. He stumbles back and I fall on my side. I hear Truitt holler but I see nothing as I am surrounded by walker shadows.

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_**Last chapter before the end... just another warning for those unprepared.**_

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Walking Dead series (both comic book and television), and I do not claim to own any of these characters other than my own original character. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.**

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**Alright... too excited to wait for Friday. Anticipation was killing me.**

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**Chapter Twenty Two**

As much as I wanted to get up and fight back, I would be lying if I said there wasn't a part of me that wanted to just lie there and die. It would beat the next horde of walkers to the punch. I would be gone, Truitt would live and Daryl could take him back to the storage house where my brother could live out the last few years of his life.

I kick out as a walker hangs onto my legs. I reach up and try to use the walkers above me as a sort of pulley, but the two I grab end up falling on top of me. This is it. This is my end. My head falls back as my eyes water. At least I know Truitt is alive.

I scream as a hand grabs at my shoulder and begins to pull me. I reach to it and hold onto it for dear life as a walker hangs onto my waist. I can feel its breath on my skin, why it has not bitten yet is beyond me.

Whether the thing that's pulling me is human or not, I am more than willing to find out if it means I will not be surrounded by this death. As I emerge from the horde, I gasp as my eyes meet with Daryl's and Truitt's.

Truitt pulls me up and Daryl supports me. "We have to go—we have to go now!" I holler, though it is an unneeded warning. As we run, I keep an eye on Truitt as he limps beside us. When we make a left down a hall, I free myself from Daryl and rip open a door, my eyes surveying the room quickly.

"In here," I say as I pull at Truitt. "Right now, let's go!" As Truitt enters the room, I push Daryl back and slam the door behind Truitt. "You're staying here. You're too hurt to follow," I say, as Truitt hits the door from the inside of the room. I quickly hit the lock as he tries to open the door. It was a quarantine room. We had them back home in our small hospital. It kept those in; the lock was meant to be on the outside. "Find something for that limp of yours—,"

"This is bullshit, Lexa!" he hollers. I turn my head down the hall and see the shadows of walkers following.

"We got to go," I whisper to Daryl as he watches me with a furrowed brow. "We'll be back for you, Tru," I say in a strained whisper.

Just as I take a step away, I hear something slide on the floor. "Take it with you," I hear his voice call out. I turn back and see his gun just outside the door. "There are only two bullets left," he adds. "I'm not saying shoot yourself, but if it comes down to it… there are enough for the both of you."

I rush back to the door and smack the wood. "Don't even think like that!" I bark. "We'll be back—I promise. We just need to wait them out," I add before picking the gun up and running down the hall with Daryl.

Daryl grips my waist again as we wonder through the hallway. Suddenly, it opens up to a cafeteria, tables knocked over and chairs tossed carelessly. I feel his arm release me as we both look at the three kiosks. It is like we both zone in on the same thing as we step together towards the washrooms.

"Better get that gun ready," Daryl says quietly as we eye up the men's washroom door. I take a deep shaky breath as he only carries three bolts with him.

"I'm going in first," I say before bumping him as I pass.

"Like hell you are," he grunts as he pulls at my arm. I shake him off and quickly enter the restroom. I gasp as a walker stands in the centre of the bathroom, his back to one of the two urinals. I raise my brother's gun with a shaky hand and take a deep breath. _Bang_!

I lower my gun and push open one stall; nothing. The second's door is pushed and still nothing. Before leaving the restroom, I pick the walker's body up and seat him on one of the toilets. With myself still inside, I lock the stall and pull myself under the door. It may not have been beautiful, but at least we wouldn't have to look at it while we waited out the walkers.

I push the door open and step outside. Daryl eyes me up and shakes his head before opening the door and entering himself. "I thought you didn't believe in—," I cut him off with a holler as something sharp digs into my thigh. I look down and see a walker's half exposed scalp below me. Daryl quickly races out and jabs a bolt into its head.

"Shit!" he hollers as he looks at me. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" He grabs me and pulls me into the restroom, locking the door behind us. He lowers me to the floor as I lean on the door. My eyes are welled and my mouth twitches as I try to figure out if this is a cruel joke or something I should frown at.

My body shakes uncontrollably as I look down at the red seeping through my pants. This isn't real—it can't be. Daryl shakes his head, his cheeks pinched up in the same disbelief I carry. "We can cut it off," he says as he drops to his knees and takes out his knife. I want to chuckle at the thought of the small blade chewing through all that meat, but instead it comes out as a whimper.

"I think this is it," I say as the sight radiates with intense heat. My mind won't wrap around the gravity of the situation, no matter how hard I try. I look up into Daryl's eyes, but he won't stop staring at my bite mark. "Daryl," I say as I reach a shaky hand out and drop it on his shoulder.

He pushes it off and shakes his head. "No," he says. "We can do it, we've done it before and it worked—,"

"If I don't die from bleeding out, I'll die from infection." Reality slowly overcomes me. I feel tears well in my eyes as my voice rises in pitch, "I'll be okay." I force a smile as he finally meets my eyes. "I'm okay with this."

"Well, I'm not!" he hollers as he throws his knife across the restroom making me jump at the sudden outburst.

I pull myself further up, my back now comfortably against the door. "This isn't up to you," I say quietly.

"Why?" he barks, his face shooting towards mine. I hear my blood pressure in my ears as he stares back at me. I want to answer him, but I know no matter what I say, he won't understand. "You found him, Alex. Truitt's waiting for you—,"

"He's going to be in for a surprise when I don't come back," I remark with a smile, but quickly regret it as Daryl hits the wall beside me. I pull down my pants, the boxers I wear are soaked with blood. I want to throw up as I lift the boxers' leg. Red pulses from the sight and seeps down onto the white tile floor. The depth of the bite itself is deep enough to stick a finger inside. I shiver.

The tears in my eyes finally fall and I cup my face in my hands. I am dying. I am actually dying. I shake my head and raise my face. "I think it's a little late to cut it off," I say with a laugh though I know it's not funny. I shiver once again, but the trembling doesn't seem to want to leave. As my teeth chatter Daryl turns away. "What's happening to me?" I ask, my hands balling the material on my boxers as I make fists in an attempt to still my body.

"It's shock," he says. I hear him sniffle as I nod.

I smile slightly. "Too bad this didn't happen outside; I might have enjoyed the coolness out there." I hear him choke out a weak laugh. I lower my head against the door and struggle to breathe as my lungs fight for quick short breaths. "Do you have any stories?" I ask with my knuckles whitening as their grip tightens.

Daryl looks down at me. His eyes are bloodshot, but he refuses to yield to their tears. "I'm not a very good story teller," he says before he coughs trying to hide the hitch in his voice.

I shake my head. "You're not a very good comforter." I take a deep breath as the wound's pain shoots up to my hip and then down to my toes. "I used to think I would die an old woman. I thought I would have, like—," I scoff, "—nine kids and twenty grandchildren." I feel my lip quiver but will it to stop before Daryl can take notice. "I was going to die in my bed while I slept," I say. "Or, they would all be around me and, as I took my last breath, they would all say how much they loved me." I shake my head and close my eyes. "When this all happened, I started thinking I would die in the arms of my brother. Truitt would stroke my hair and tell me about when we were little…" I gasp as the pain shoots again. "I didn't think it would end like this." I attempt a smirk. "Not with you telling me how you aren't good at telling stories."

Daryl stands and, for a moment, I think I may have offended him. When I open my mouth to ask him where he's going, he lowers himself beside me and carefully lifts me onto his lap. I attempt to move my head to look up at him, but his hand pushed my cheek towards his chest until I stop straining.

I close my eyes and, for the first time in a long time, I feel safe. I can hear his heartbeat strong and steady as his hand rises and slowly pets the short hair on the side of my head. I smile at the sensation. "I wish things could have ended differently," he says.

"You and me both," I say with a pained smile. Sweat beads on my forehead as the fever sets in.

He readjusts me and lifts my legs, careful to not disturb the wound. He holds me like a newborn; such care and, dare I say, love. "You're brother's not going to be happy," Daryl says as his hand rises to stroke my hair again. I shake my head; the pain and fever are too much for me to speak. "If he's anything like you, he's probably going to want to kill me." I attempt a smirk but ultimately frown. "He was lucky to have a sister like you." I feel my eyes well up and tears trickle down my cheeks. Daryl's hand rises again, but, instead of stroking my hair, he wipes my tears.

He clears his throat. "You're brave, Alex. You're stupid too…" his voice trails and then he sniffles. "But you made the right call. Truitt wouldn't have made it…" Daryl looks down at me and swallows multiple times before struggling out his words. "You're like the little brat sister I never wanted." I work up enough strength to hit his shoulder and he lets out a sad laugh.

"You're like the—," I lick my lips and smile, "—big brother I was looking for—," I take a quick breath and moan out in pain, "—only uglier," I add before letting out a delayed chuckle.

"At least we're on the same page," he says, his words nasally and ending with a short laugh.

For a long time there is silence. The movement of his chest and the occasional pet on my head act as a sort of reminder I'm still breathing, I'm still alive; I'm still me. The pain slowly dissipates, but my head burns like the fires of hell. "What are you going to tell the others?" I ask, my breathing finally back to a relatively normal pace. This was my second wind; my final moments. How long it would last was the only question remaining.

Daryl looks down at me, his eyes narrow with sorrow. He swallows and gives a short shrug. "I'll tell them like it happened."

I shake my head. He doesn't understand. "How will it end?"

Daryl's jaw clenches and lips flatten. "How do _you_ want it to end?"

I let out a shaky breath as I pull out the gun Truitt gave to me. There was still only one bullet in it; that would be enough. "It should end with a bang."

Daryl makes a pained expression. "Out of all the words you could choose…"

I smirk. "I was once told sensitivity wasn't exactly common practice anymore."

Daryl narrows his eyes. "Sounds like something Rick would say."

I nod and pull myself off of his lap with a slight whimper and wince. "You might not want to be in here."

"You're doing it now?" he asks as I struggle to nod. There was no sound of walkers outside; I could pull the trigger and Daryl could come back in before they found him. I could do it in the other stall... so he wouldn't have to look at what was left of me. "Then I'll stay." Daryl watches me for a second as I pinch my cheeks up. "I wouldn't want to die by myself," he finally says.

I raise the gun and bite my lip as the cool barrel touches my temple. I can feel the trigger under my finger—but the amount of force it takes to budge it is too much for me to muster. The anticipation makes my hand fall.

"I can't." I look at the barrel and furrow my brow. "I want to go out on my own terms… but I can't do it." I look back at him; my brow still furrowed as nudges his head to the gun slightly. I shake my head as my jaw drops. "I couldn't put that on you."

"You aren't," he says. "But I don't think a fifteen year old should have to shoot herself." Daryl shrugs. "It's not that I want to do it… but I'll do it for you. It's the least I could do."

I look down at my bite mark and lick my lips as sweat trickles down the side of my face. I throw my head back and sigh. "This sucks," I say and Daryl nods. We sit in silence for a moment longer as the solemnity settles in. I look out the high windows and nod. "Truitt will be wondering where we are. Those walkers should be passed him by now." I look to Daryl as he stares at the floor. "I'm ready," I say with a sure nod that deceives my actual feelings.

Daryl stands and dusts himself off. I hold the gun up to him and he grips it with a nod. All I can see is Truitt's face when he saw me; the harsh eyes and then the sudden familiarity softening his face. All of this work—all of this time—all for nothing. My head drops and I start to cry uncontrollably. After a second I feel arms wrap around me and I burrow my face into Daryl's chest. "I'm sorry," I whimper as his chin rests on my shoulder.

I can feel his head shake. "Don't be. It was a good call… my brother would have done the same." He releases me, his eyes looking into mine. Daryl's hand rises and, once again, he wipes away my tears. "You ready?" he struggles out.

"I should be asking you that," I say.

Daryl rises and takes a deep breath. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be." He lets out a long sigh. "This…"

"Sucks," I finish for him making him nod.

Daryl straightens his back and attempts to clear his throat as he turns away from me. A tear's trail glistens on his cheek as he turns back my way. This was my fault. He fights with his footing and then bends over me, a kiss landing on the top of my head. Daryl wipes his tears away and straightens once more with a sniffle and raises the gun. I close my eyes.

"Safe journey, little sister."

**The End.**

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**A huge thank you to all those who decided this was what they wanted to read! Thank you all very much. **

**This was my first Walking Dead Fanfiction and it has been wonderful to write. Thank you, again, for reading!**

**Reviews are much welcomed and always appreciated!**

**~MsBBSue**


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